


Moonlight and Mountain Ash

by OpiateVampire



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beorn is the BBF (Bear Best Friend), Drama & Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Kinda, Making friends with all of Middle Earth, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Supernatural Elements, elves are hippies, gratuitous use of Robert Frost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpiateVampire/pseuds/OpiateVampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adopted and loved by her human parents, a young woman with a strange talent leads a simple, happy life in the mountains. Adventures seem like very nice things to read in her books, but she's content not knowing the secrets of her own origin. Yet forces beyond her control don't seem too concerned with what she wants, as a whispering in the trees and dreams of a man dressed in starlight lead her into the woods and a fairy tale of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Waking Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> View my sketches and moodboards here: https://www.flickr.com/gp/155233956@N07/a78079

_I left you in the morning,_

_And in the morning glow,_

_You walked a way beside me_

_To make me sad to go._

_Do you know me in the gloaming,_

_Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?_

_Are you mute because you know me not,_

_Or mute because you know?_

**Chapter One**

 

    A red-tailed hawk swooped low over the trees, circling once before alighting on the bough of an oak. It cocked its downy head to the side, sharp tawny eyes observing the quiet rustling of the late afternoon forest. The sun had begun to sink in the sky and cast a golden warmth on slopes of the Appalachian mountains. Dappled light moved over the leaf-covered floor as the canopy lazily shifted in the breeze. Seeming to finding nothing of interest, the hawk leapt from its perch, wings flaring as it glided downward. As the bird drifted towards the ground, its feathered body lit up with a strange glow. Shimmering with white-gold light, its form warped and expanded outward— until it became that of a young woman, standing beneath the trees wearing naught but her long curtain of hair.

 

    It was on a crisp autumn day much like this one, but twenty-some years before, that a couple hiking in the woods found a child. This would not have been such an extraordinary occurrence, as the changing of the leaves had tourists from all over the state flocking to mountains. With rambunctious carpools of kids arriving daily, invariably one or two went missing before the season was up. The day would have carried on unfazed, really, once the mislaid child was taken to the park ranger’s office. But the couple and their discovery never made it that far, as this particular astray child began keening and wailing in a strange language, and then promptly transformed into a mountain lion cub.

    Most people with a lick of sense, or a reasonable regard for their own safety, would have immediately began running down the mountain as far as their feet would take them. Orpheus and Foxglove Harrison, however, were not particularly sensible nor safety-minded people. The eccentric couple were aging flower children, still unrepentantly living out the new age ideals of their 1960’s hippie youth. With a natural distrust of authority, and a tenacious belief that there were things out there that said authorities were covering up, they instantly felt that their lives had in some way lead them to precisely this moment. Their object of greater purpose was sitting in front of them, fixated on them with feline eyes. A hum of energy buzzed through the air, and she took the shape of an unassuming little girl again. The truth was out there, and apparently was a little girl who could turn into a cat. Once the couple recovered from their shock, they could only naturally assume one thing— she was an alien.

   Two directives became immediately clear on this revelation: one, it was Orpheus and Foxglove’s honored duty to protect this child until she could be returned to her own intergalactic kind, and two, The Government obviously was the largest threat to directive number one. The Man was also, in their minds, the largest threat to just about everything under (and above) the sun, but it seemed especially so in this case. And so the couple and their new ward spent the week lingering in the late fall shadow of the mountain forest, camping among the trees and waiting for something to happen. Occasional solo excursions to a nearby town revealed that no one else was aware of any existing missing children, and that life had continued undisturbed for everyone else in the area. As it became more and more clear as the days passed that nothing was going to happen anytime soon, the Harrisons and their “alien fugitive” left the Appalachians, confident that the powers that left the little one behind could find her again when the time came.

    Orpheus and Foxglove did their best to remind themselves that the child was not _theirs_ , but as time went on, that line began to blur. It was impossible not to love her— she looked and acted like a child; sweet and curious and endearing. She learned English and stopped speaking her mysterious language. When she smiled at them, her eyes were warm with trust. After a few weeks, she stopped crying out at night and instead slept soundly between them. And so in no time at all, their adoptive inhuman daughter grew up, ensconced in the safety of their homely (if overly patchouli smelling) trailer. Unable to get any answers about her origin, they eventually named her— Rowan, for the mountain ash tree whose red berries matched her hair and grey bark was the color of her eyes.

    Over two decades had passed since that fateful first day. Rowan, now no longer childlike in nature or appearance, hummed contentedly as she knelt down, tucking a wayward strand of russet hair behind her ear. Brushing aside some dry leaves at the base of the oak tree, she revealed a neat bundle of clothing hidden beneath. It was getting _just_ a bit late into the year to be comfortably loitering around in one’s birthday suit, she considered as she dressed quickly in the dark green sweater, grey leggings, and brown boots. The leggings fit her slim legs snugly but the sweater hung off of her straight and narrow body like clothes on a rack. Rowan was built like a sapling, narrow and spindly with few curves to be found. Once, her adoptive mother had tried to reassure her that her body might fill out in time, but Rowan had just laughed. Her supposedly alien body was functional, practical the way it was. Such exaggerated secondary sexual characteristics seemed silly to her. Most animals didn’t need them, so why should she?

   Straightening her back and taking in her surroundings once more, Rowan’s ash grey eyes darted quickly from place to place, the slightest movement not escaping her notice. There was an undercurrent of _something_ in the forest today. It was the slightest tingling feeling on her skin, just a breath of a whisper in the air— so faint it she almost assumed that her mind was playing tricks. But Rowan knew this place as well as the sound of her father’s snoring or her mother’s laugh. They were in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, the center of the Appalachians. She had spent almost all her life in and around them, traveling with her parents up and down the east coast as they followed work from town to town. Today was the first time she had ever felt something was wrong. The sky was clear, the breeze was fair, but the uneasiness persisted.

    Eventually shrugging her bony shoulders and deciding the truth would out sooner or later, Rowan began her way towards home. The leaves crunched satisfyingly beneath her booted feet, and she took pleasure in kicking them up around her in a flurry a bit more forcefully than was necessary, as she trotted down the mountain. Rounding a thick grove of trees, a large clearing containing a smattering of wood paneled barns and log cabins came into view. A few fenced pastures abutted the trees at the edge of the open field, littered with the tiny white and brown shapes of chickens, and here and there the larger bulk of a goat or alpaca. It was an idyllic scene, with the breeze gently swaying the red and gold domes of the surrounding trees. But still, the prickling on feeling on Rowan’s skin remained.

    For most of her childhood she, Orpheus, and Foxglove had traveled; hauling their trailer from place to place. Rowan remained a ghost to the outside world, having no birth certificate nor other proof of her existence, and home-schooled by her adoptive parents. Fortunately, in their circle of new age nomads, few people had ever spared her upbringing more than a passing thought. The little family mostly worked at festivals, selling homemade crafts and natural beauty products Foxglove made, though there had been lean months that required odd jobs and physical labor. Then, five years ago, the little family had joined a farming cooperative in these mountains and found themselves a more permanent settlement. Fox Farms was a simple operation— you worked there and in exchange you lived and ate there. It wasn’t terribly hard labor either, they had mostly chickens, small mammals, and bees, and a few fields of crops. It became home in very little time at all.

    In a matter of moments, Rowan loped down into the small valley, advancing on a trailer settled in the far west corner. Partly hidden behind a few thin, pale birch trees, leaves had piled up around its base, indicating it had been parked there for some time. A multitude of sparkling glass windchimes and sun catchers hung from the eaves, flashing in the orange light of the sun that was now low in the sky. Small stone statuary of angels and fairies were littered along the path to the entrance. The metal door creaked in protest as Rowan opened it, greeted immediately with the smell of curry wafting over from the tiny kitchen to the left side of the long trailer.

   “Rowan!” Her mother called out in greeting, smile evident in her voice as she turned around, wiping her hands on a dish rag.

   Foxglove Harrison was a beautiful woman, even in her seventies. Her face was soft and oval-shaped, and graced with an openness enhanced by her full lips, gently upturned nose, and warm green eyes. Her pale blonde hair, once golden but now light from the heavy mixture of silver into its color, framed her face in two loosely woven braids. She wore a simple blue linen peasant dress with a berry colored smock atop it, and several silver trinkets and bangles jangled on her arms. Rowan’s serious face lit up in affection upon seeing her mother there. She quickly strode over to embrace her tightly, wrapping her long, willowy limbs around her mother’s much softer, shorter form. She planted a kiss on top of Foxglove’s head and her mother made a huff of indignation in response.

  “Just because you have been towering over me for eight years now does not mean you need to keep rubbing it it in!” she chided, though she squeezed Rowan’s shoulder warmly as they parted.

   “But it’s you who have the advantage! How many times now have Father and I bumped our heads on the door frame?” Rowan responded with a laugh.

   Her mother snorted. “Well, that’d have more to do with the two of you galloping around like a pair of wild ponies, I’d wager.”

   Rowan could only grin and wave her hands in front of her in a gesture of innocence. She slipped past her mother to investigate the orange-colored curry on the stove and the pot of long grain rice cooking beside it.

   “Yes, I’d imagine you’d be hungry, seeing as you’ve been gone since before the sun came up.” Foxglove commented, as she shoo’d Rowan out of the way to get three bowls from the cabinet, while making a decided effort not to comment on the smirk her daughter gave her when she had to rise on up her tip-toes to get them.

   Once they had settled at the small table situated alongside the wall of the trailer, Rowan filled her mother in on all the things she had seen that day from her bird’s eye view. It was mostly trivial— which farms had begun or finished harvesting, what wildlife had been out and about. Both of her parents encouraged her to privately delight in her ability, in her otherness, and loved to hear her talk about her adventures walking in the skin of other animals. Her talent had progressed with age, it seemed. The older she was, the longer she could hold a form and the more daring her transformations became. Animals much smaller or larger than her normal size had previously eluded her, but now they came more easily. Fish, birds, reptiles had also started to be more natural for her, rather than only the warm blooded, four footed mammals she could shift into without a thought.

   The single hindrance to her wild joy was that it must be a secret to everyone but her loving adoptive parents. When she was younger she had pressed them about it one night, heartbroken that she couldn’t tell some children she’d met at the faire that day. “ _Because_ ” Orpheus had said. “ _You are special, little one. And powerful people seek to possess special things_ ”.

   Foxglove and Rowan finished their meal just as the sun had finally set behind the trees. A soft wind shook the branches lightly as they swept ghostly touches over the roof of the trailer. The feeling of _wrongness_ had returned, making Rowan’s skin break out in goosebumps. However, it did seem more muted now, in the warmth and safety of her home. She didn’t realize she was staring out the window apprehensively until her mother interrupted her thoughts with a cough.

  “Have you…have you felt anything…strange in the woods today?” Rowan asked, still unsure how to articulate the feeling that was prickling at her neck.

   Her mother considered thoughtfully, then gave her a small shrug. “I can’t say that I have, dear. But, maybe you are more likely to sense something than me. It’s the fall equinox tomorrow, you know. The veil between worlds will be thin.” Foxglove advised knowingly, dead serious in her statement about other dimensions.

   Then her expression lifted, and she smiled as she added “And of course, it will be your twenty-fifth birthday, my little girl.”

   Rowan snorted and rolled her eyes. Her parents both knew she had a blasé attitude towards her birthday, which all three of them were aware was really just a guess anyway. She’d been about three years old in appearance when they’d found her, so they had used that and the date of day she entered their lives to celebrate each year, in an effort to normalize her life. For Rowan, however, the day simply proved to remind her that she had been _found_ not _born_ , and thus whatever had left her there could come back. It had been a looming threat over her little family for all their time together. Orpheus and Foxglove seemed to put it behind them as time went on, never mentioning the fact that one day their happiness could be ripped away from them. The thought absolutely terrified Rowan. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t truly their child, or that she wasn’t even human. They were hers, and she was theirs, and she would fight tooth and nail anything that tried to come between them.

   The noisy, spring-loaded door opening and slamming shut again interrupted her pensive train of thoughts. The hulking form of her father briefly blotted out the overhead light, as he leaned down to kiss the top of his wife’s head and then his daughter’s.

   “Dinner without me? And here I thought my two best girls cared about poor old Dad!” Orpheus’s booming but friendly voice stated indignantly, seeming to fill the whole trailer.

   Foxglove smacked his shoulder playfully. “It was a strategic maneuver to make sure we had ours before you inhaled it, you big moose!”

   Orpheus gently took the same hand that had accosted him and kissed it lightly before thumping off towards the kitchen to fix himself a plate.

   Rowan’s father was indeed big and bear-like— standing a bit over six feet, wide as a refrigerator, and covered in dark salt and pepper hair. He was at least half a foot over his daughter and a full two over his wife, with tree-trunk arms that remained firm and muscled despite his age. Up to his neck, his skin was covered in the criss-crossing patterns of fading black ink of sacred geometry tattoos. Compared to his wife, Orpheus’s facial features were somewhat crude and broad, though they were more often than not crinkled up in a smile. His kind blue eyes twinkled out of his suntanned face, softening his intimidating countenance. He wore a plain (at the moment rather dirty) cotton tee shirt and nondescript brown pants that went down to his well used work boots. Orpheus didn’t favor a overabundance of jewelry like his wife, wearing only a simple, braided metal band as his wedding ring.

   Returning triumphant with his dinner, the first serving of what would probably be many that night, Rowan’s father pulled up a metal foldable chair to the table and sank into it as it creaked in protest.

   “Rowan was just trying to pout her way out of another birthday” Foxglove informed her husband archly.

   “To think any daughter of mine would try to avoid an extra meal and the chance to drink herself silly!” Orpheus harrumphed.

   Rowan, disliking being talked about as if she wasn’t there, crossed her arms and glared at the two conspirators. “You know I don’t like drawing attention to the fact we don’t actually know my birthday.”

   Both her parents shrugged simultaneously in a comical gesture belaying how many years they had been together.

    “Well our Cinderella is going to have to come down to the ball tomorrow night, and let the townsfolk adore her, then she can go turn into a pouting pumpkin at midnight.” her mother stated, allowing no argument.

   As much as Rowan tried to hide the smile creeping across her face, she couldn’t, as she sighed dramatically in acquiescence. The matter being settled, her father launched into an enthusiastic retelling of his day fixing fences at the farm due to the escape of a particularly wily goat. As the hour grew later, Rowan reluctantly stood up, kissing her parents on the cheek as she took the dirty dishes to the sink and bid them goodnight.

   There were two bedrooms in the trailer, one at either end. Rowan’s was the slightly smaller of the two, being about the size of a pantry. It was enough space for a dresser, and a twin bed on a raised platform, allowing for small desk beneath. The walls were a painted a vivid blue, and largely taken up by posters of deep space— galaxies, nebulas, and delicate constellations. Her parents had thought that, with her being an alien and all, the images would be calming and remind Rowan of her birthplace. Personally, she wasn’t sure that these pictures actually had any special connection to her, but she found them pretty all the same.

   The mirror above her dresser caught her eye as she glanced over the room. Her reflection showed a young woman of indeterminate age, likely somewhere in her early adulthood. Her skin was pale and smooth, eyes wide set and bright, hair falling straight down past her waist in a heavy rust-colored curtain. A face that could be considered beautiful, but not in the inviting and earthy way of her adoptive mother. They were like the sun and the moon. Rowan’s nose was long and straight as an arrow, coming to a point rather than a gentle slope. Her jaw and cheekbones were similarly unyielding, sharp, and angled. Her mouth was the only gentle feature in her face, being full and just a touch too wide. Combined with her figure already so lacking any curves or softness that it was nearly sexless, Rowan’s overall appearance had a harsh aspect that many people found unsettling at first glance. But in movement, she was most often laughing, smiling, and running from place to place, and this liveliness endeared her quickly to the small number of people who got to know her.

    Pulling off her slightly leafy clothing, and tossing it in a linen bag hanging off the door, Rowan replaced it with a faded Grateful Dead tee shirt (a relic of her father’s wardrobe), and climbed up the rickety wooden ladder to her bed. Acutely feeling the chill of the air on her bare legs, she quickly dove under the pile of brightly-patterned blankets, then rolled over onto her back. Rowan contemplated the glow-in-the-dark plastic stars that were stuck to her ceiling. Tomorrow, she was twenty-five years old. Was that too old to be living in her parent’s trailer, staring at faint green constellations until she fell asleep? Other women her age had homes, children of their own by now. Rowan could survive on her own, if she needed to— her mother and father had trained her in survival basics in the event she was ever separated from them. But she didn’t want to leave the safe nest of their presence. Rowan liked her simple life in the trees, working with animals, and sometimes slipping away to turn into one.

    The unsettling vibration coming from the woods was still grating on her nerves. It whispered ever so quietly through the cracks in the wall, and her stomach twisted with anxiety all over again. Eventually, she fell asleep to the inexorable feeling that _something_ was going to happen to disrupt her quiet little world.

 

_All around her were the tentacled black silhouettes of trees, barely discernible from the inky indigo sky behind them. There was no moon or stars that could light her path. Somewhere ahead of her, a faint luminescence filtered through the shadows of the forest. She was pulled towards it, her bare feet carrying her silently over forest floor. As she drew close enough to see, Rowan halted in her tracks, nearly stumbling backwards. The silvery light was a figure of a man. She squinted her eyes, to try to make him out clearer but it was as if she were at the bottom of a pond staring up through the water at the moon. His visage wavered and shimmered on the surface, almost transparent. Suddenly his head turned and he seemed to stare straight into her. Her heart froze in her chest and she scarcely dared to breathe, transfixed. His voice called out to her but the sound was barely more than an echo. She couldn’t make out his words, like they had carried across a great distance. Rowan opened her mouth to speak, but choked on the air, unable to force the words out and break the veil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 8/8/17  
> Ahhh my first attempt at fanfiction in over 10 years! Please let me know what you think and try not to jusdge too harshly if I am out of practice. Thank you for reading!
> 
>    
> Title is from the song by Kate Herzig.


	2. Somewhere Across Forever

  
_Before the leaves can mount again_  
_To fill the trees with another shade,_  
_They must go down past things coming up._  
_They must go down into the dark decayed._

  
**Chapter Two  
**

Rowan’s eyes snapped open to the full weight of the mid-morning sun. The dream felt as though it had lasted only minutes, but apparently she had slept away the better part of nine hours. Half-sitting up, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, and strained to recall the nebulous fragments of the last night’s visions. The harder Rowan tried to grab onto them, the farther they slipped from her grasp. That eerie sensation in her tickling the back of her mind was back, even stronger than the day before, making  it rather difficult to focus on anything at all.

     Giving up the effort, she dragged herself from the nest of blankets, into the chill of the open air, the cold driving Rowan to nearly leap down the ladder as goosebumps prickled her skin. She quickly donned a pair of wool leggings and a long burgundy tunic dress, shrugging on a gray knit cardigan over top for good measure. Pulling on her socks and well-worn leather boots, Rowan skipped into the main room to find Orpheus and Foxglove had already departed for the day. They did, however, stick a note to fridge telling her Happy Birthday, and that she was to report to the main barn at seven sharp. Rowan rolled her eyes in the direction of their empty bedroom, as if she could somehow psychically convey her lack of enthusiasm. Slumping down at the tiny kitchen table, she pondered ways to pass the time. Since it  _ was _ her birthday (for all intents and purposes), she wasn’t expected to work, or otherwise do anything particularly useful. The continued apprehensive feeling in the air made Rowan all the more desperate to distract herself. She was twitching in her seat under the weight of it. Grabbing her dog-eared copy of  _ The Kalevala _ from where it sat on the countertop, she stood and headed to the door, deciding there were worse ways to waste the day than reading a Finnish poetic saga.

    The sunlight was falling warm and soft through the misty sky, and it alleviated some of the chill of the autumn air. A crow passed overhead, croaking loudly as it landed on a branch that swung threateningly under the bird’s weight. A fair distance off, Rowan could see the other residents of the farm milling about the barns and the animal enclosures. The crop fields were not currently visible from where they lay in another open area beyond the trees. She imagined that was where her parents were about, as per usual. Animal husbandry was, unsurprisingly, much more her forte.

    Without the four walls of their trailer around her, Rowan could hear the disquieting whispers in the forest louder than ever. Was it coming from the trees? The air? It was impossible to source, ethereal and omnipotence and  _ frustrating _ . Shaking her head to disrupt its hypnotic pull on her, Rowan made for a copse of trees just up the hill where the limbs grew wide and low-- ideal for reading.

    Selecting a sufficiently supportive-looking branch that was about shoulder height from the ground, Rowan set her book upon it and hoisted herself up. Tucked in neatly against the trunk, she closed her eyes a moment, savoring the solid feeling of the bark against her back and her legs. The sunlight was pleasantly seeping into her bones, tempering the chill from the slight breeze that ruffled her hair. Focusing on the physical presence of the natural world around her anchored Rowan against the unpleasant creeping of the disquiet in the woods. After a few minutes, her breathing came easier and her head cleared a little. 

    Spirits lifted enough for the task at hand, she opened her book and began pouring over the ancient tale of the mighty norseman Ilmarinen and his search for a bride. The sun slowly tilted overhead as the time passed, some of the grey mist of the mountain clouds clearing to let more light pour through. Rowan had just gotten to the part where the virgin Marjatta ate a magic lingonberry and was impregnated, when the sound of a throat clearing broke her peaceful reverie. She looked up from her book in surprise. Then upon seeing nothing, realized she was up in a tree, and looked down to the ground instead. A man was staring expectantly up at her.

    He was a little taller than her, as the height of the branch reached his chest. His dark hair curled softly around his head, to the length of his ears, the same color at the dark stubble of his ghost of a beard. His hazel eyes were staring into hers as he smiled, waiting to be acknowledged.

 

    “Alex!” Rowan greeted happily, largely due to her personal triumph at remembering his name.

 

    There weren’t more than sixty people on the farm, but admittedly, she did not often go out among people her own age. It was different when they were children-- running and laughing, and not worrying about appearances. Nowadays, she tended to felt awkward near them. Rowan was used to speaking in her usual direct and honest manner. She had never quite grasped the subtlety of indirect meanings and “white lies”, and that left little room for flirting and artful social gymnastics. Certainly, learning to scheme a little wasn’t a useless skill no matter where you lived, but it wasn’t one Rowan  _ wanted _ to invest in. If life didn’t necessitate the skill of verbal swordplay, then she was determined not to cultivate it. The differences between her and her peers didn’t cause Rowan to feel any resentment or ill will towards them, but privately she did feel more alien than ever when trying to be a convincing young human.

 

    “Rowan.” he replied pleasantly, giving her another hopeful smile. “I heard it’s your birthday today.”

 

    She nodded, not sure what else to say. As she leaned forward to adjust herself on the tree limb, a thick lock of her hair fell out of place. Alex, suddenly emboldened, reached up and tucked it back behind her ear. Rowan stilled like a deer in the headlights, not sure how to respond to the gesture. She offered him a timid upturn of her lips, and breathed a small sigh of relief as his hand returned to his side.

“My parents have convinced themselves I need to have a party.” Rowan whined, half to herself.

 

    “Ah, yes...I know. Actually...I was wondering if you would dance with me… there, tonight?” He struggled out, cheeks reddening slightly underneath his five o’clock shadow.

 

    “Oh!...uh, sure? I love to dance.” She volunteered, hoping to ease his awkwardness, and a half second later hoping there wasn’t too much to read into that.

 

    Alex seemed to relax at her answer though, and gave her a half bow and grin. “Well then, Rapunzel, I will leave you to your reading and see you tonight.”

 

With that he waved a goodbye and sauntered off, leaving a flustered redhead in his wake.

 

    Rowan couldn’t help but flush furiously to herself, the red in her cheeks impossible to hide against her fair skin. She was entirely unsure of how to digest their interaction. Was he flirting with her? Rarely had anyone approached her in  _ that way _ , not that she was cognizant of anyhow. She had never really felt physical attraction, as the sensation had been described to her. Neither men or women seemed to pique any kind of fluttering in her heart...or other places. Rowan always chalked it up to a difference in species, and figured  _ that _ aspect of her life would just go unexplored unless a suitable candidate presented themselves. 

    It wasn’t that she didn’t  _ like _ Alex. Their interactions had always been pleasant enough. He seemed honest and kind, and was certainly hard-working. They’d spent more than a few afternoons weeding gardens, digging wells, and shepherding animals. Somehow Rowan found the idea of spending time with him much more pleasant when he had goat poop smeared on his jeans, rather than cleaned up and dancing at a party. Still, she hated the thought of hurting anyone’s feelings with disinterest on her part. Rowan ran a hand over her forehead in frustration. One more reason to be petulant about her birthday.

    Trying to focus her attention back on her book, Rowan’s former peace of mind seemed to elude her. Huffing and shuffling about in her seat, suddenly the texture of the part was no longer reassuring and comforting, but instead chafing her backside. With a pained huff, she eventually gave up. Tucking the book under her arm, she hoisted herself up and dropped her legs over the side of the branch, letting herself slide off and land on her booted feet with a  _ thump _ . At the base of the tree, the leaves had accumulated in fluffy pile of red and gold. Shrugging, Rowan flopped down onto it, sending displaced leaves flying upward. She felt rather like a cat swapping one windowsill for another. 

    She crossed her legs and leaned back with a deep sigh. Closing her eyes, Rowan focused on the slow in and out of her breathing. With one sense cut off, her ears instinctively sought out the small nuances of the sound of the forest around her. Using a trick she had begun practicing a few years ago, she focused on her ears, funneling the warm glow of her power into them, shifting them subtly in their inner framework. In this partially transformed state, Rowan suddenly had the advantageous hearing of a cat-- without having to change her entire physical form. The ambient noises flooded in clearer, sharper now. She could almost visualize the waves of sound. The whisper in the air was louder, too. It was almost as if she could make out words if she just chased them too their source…but every time Rowan focused on it, it darted out of her grasp, like seeing the shadow of something in your peripheral vision.

    Before she knew it, the soft sunlight light on her skin and her closed eyes as she focused on the spectral sound had lulled her into a sleepy trance. A comfortable weight settled over her. A voice tugged at the edge of her consciousness. Slowly, Rowan was pulled down away from the sun, and into the shadows of her dreamworld.

_     The trees were still black and twisted against the midnight sky, but they were less suffocating now, ass softly in the distance, faint stars twinkled. The heavenly lights cast just enough dim radiance to illuminate the path under her feet as Rowan moved in the dark. The glow that had guided her the night before was not there, but she moved in the same direction anyway. A strange hopefulness, and expectation, fluttered in her chest. Who was she searching for?  _

_     As soon as she cleared the line of the trees, she saw him standing there, radiant and cold. _

_     He was not so bright as the moon this time, but he  _ was _ in sharper focus, no longer obscured in a watery haze. The man was tall, much taller than herself she would guess, his body broad-shouldered, yet long and elegant beneath his silver raiment. His face was similarly intimidating but graceful— with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jaw. His eyes were startlingly blue, their piercing gaze enhanced by his dark eyebrows and smooth forehead. Straight silver hair fell over his shoulders like a waterfall, and peaking out from beneath it were the sharply pointed tips of his ears. That, combined with the smooth, marble-like texture of his skin confirmed for Rowan he was definitely  _ not _ human. But yet, he was also not the same kind of alien as her. She was reminded of stories her mother told about the Fair Folk-- old gaelic tales of the fae with their cruel beauty, and their penchant for playing tricks on unwitting mortals. _

_     Those dizzying blue eyes fixed themselves on Rowan again, and this time when he spoke, the deep timbre of his voice was clear and sharp as he called to her across the dream forest. _

 

_     “Mankoi naa lle sinome?” _

 

_     The words made no sense, but the strange musical language immediately pulled on the strings of some long forgotten memory, a pang of something familiar and begging to be remembered. Rowan could only stare at him as she struggled against the tide of resurgent memory pushing at the dam in her mind. _

 

_     “Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie?” _

 

_     He asked a different question but just as indecipherable question this time. She could not answer this any more than she could the first question, and her head spun all the over, desperately grasping at threads of familiarity—  _ where, where, where _ had she heard it before? _

_     Rowan did not even realized she had closed her eyes and grasped the side of her temples with her hands, until the air stirred and she opened them to see him standing but a step away from her, curiosity burning in his inhuman eyes. _

 

_     “Do you speak the language of Men?” His voice was softer this time, as he stood nearer to her. Now Rowan understood the words, though they were accented unlike anything she had heard on earth before. _

 

_     “…Y-yes..” she gasped out quietly. Why was she so deeply intimidated by a dream? _

 

_     “I have no desire to hurt you, little stranger.” He declared evenly, face unreadable. _

 

_     Nevertheless, she felt compelled to distance herself from the intensity of his gaze. Her backwards step caught on the unevenness of the ground, and she wavered slightly. In reaction, his pale hand shot out to grab her much smaller one, only to find they passed straight through each other like specters.  _

_     For a moment, both of them could only stare at the point where their skin refused to touch. _

 

_     “…Why are you in my dreams?” Rowan ventured after a moment, feeling calmer from staring at something other than him. _

 

_     “Who is to say you are not intruding in mine?” He rebutted. _

 

_     She dared to sneak a glance at his face. She would have ventured to say his expression was…amused? _

 

_     “You are not of the race of Men.” He declared. It wasn’t a question. _

 

_     “I could say the same to you.” This new topic was causing her anxiety to spike sharply, giving her back her courage. _

_     Rowan took another step back, steadier on her feet this time. Ghostly dream visage though he was, no one had ever outed her secret so quickly and easily. Was it because the were meeting in the mind? It made the entire situation somehow even more unsettling. _

_     He was staring at her in unguarded curiosity now. _

 

_    “Of course I am not. You have not seen one of the Eldar before?” _

 

_    “…No. There are only humans where I am, I-I think.” Rowan answered honestly. _

 

_    “And yet you live among them?” He returned to the subject she decidedly did not want to breach. _

 

_    “Yes, and that is my business, thank you.” She was earnestly back away now, the weight of his curiosity feeling like it was beginning to crush her. _

__ __

_    He frowned at her retreat. “I said I would not harm you.” _

 

_    Just as he moved forward to attempt to grasp her hand again, the darkness swirled around them, and started to fall away. Light was piercing through the dark stillness of the dream forest once again. The sudden roar of the wind to drowned out his words as they echoed after her. _

 

    Rowan sat up with a start, nearly losing her balance and tumbling over into her makeshift leaf bed. The sun was setting quickly over the high ridge of the mountains, its red rays casting eerie shadows in the trees. How much time had passed? She cursed to herself, realizing she’d likely be late to her own birthday party. Unwanted or not, it would be rude to not show up. As Rowan tried to gather herself together, a dizzying vertigo struck her, temporarily sending her back down onto her knees. Something was  _ not right _ . 

    The prickling on her skin became so strong that it now felt like burning, the buzzing in her ears nearly a roar. Rowan groaned and screwed her eyes shut tight, clamping her hands over her ears as if that could block out the awful sound. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest, as it danced like a frightened bird against her ribcage. The forest was whispering to itself in earnest now, insistent voices rising like a wave that threatened to crash over her. Dizzied by this onslaught of sensation, Rowan lurched to her feet. Though she wavered and shook like a sapling blown about in a storm, but she held firm and did not fall over. Her book fell to the leaf covered ground beside her, unnoticed.

    Trying to pull herself together, Rowan focused on her senses, altering her eyes until their retinas reflected back the dim light of the sunset with an eerie green mirror. Even with now perfect vision in the darkness, her eyes could reveal nothing to explain what was happening. The strong discord between her eyes and ears made her stomach lurch nauseatingly, and she gagged. Rowan sharpened her hearing then, listening intently to the voices that were now all but shouting at her.

 

_   “…it’s time…” _

 

_    “It’s  _ **_time_ ** _ …” _

 

   “Time for  _ what?! _ ” She shouted back angrily at the offending flora.

 

    Rowan took a few steps forward, determined to make her way back to the safety of her family. The ground rolled beneath her. She was forced to stop and fling her arms out to balance herself. She took another step, sweat pricking her brow with the effort. The earth pitched forward yet again. Rowan slammed down onto her knees— nauseated, gasping, blindly reached forward for something to hold onto. The forest floor roiled and shook like an angry sea. A wind blew down out of nowhere, swirling from all directions. Leaves kicked up around her, circling in an angry whirlwind. The dried, cracked edges stung her skin as they stuck her exposed face. Looking up, it seemed as if the silhouettes of the trees were growing taller. Or was she sinking into the ground? Rowan’s limbs would no longer respond to her commands, as she sank down into the blackness. 

    The last thing she was aware of was the elated chanting of the trees.

 

_     “…It’s time to come home.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 8/11/17
> 
> Trying to post the chapters I have written quickly so that the beginning/set up moves along. I hope it's okay so far? Please tell me what you think! And thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from the song by Stellastarr*.


	3. I Wish I Was The Moon Tonight

_Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all_  
_Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;_  
_And the sweet pang it cost me not to call_  
_And tell you that I saw does still abide._  
_But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,_  
_For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof._

  
**Chapter Three**

 

    The air was stale and heavy. Rowan struggled to draw a breath in the wet air, as her mind grasped at threads of consciousness. Awareness came back slowly, in waves of vertigo, as she fought to open her eyes. She could feel forest debris beneath her as it prickled against her back, and tentative twitch of her fingers and toes reassured her that all her limbs were still present. Rowan finally cracked open her eyelids. At first she couldn’t see much more than when they were shut, it was so horribly still and dark all around her. The shadowy silhouettes of trees surrounded her on all sides, but they were _wrong_ \-- twisted, gloomy, dreadful. Their trunks stood almost impossibly tall, reaching so high that their crowns could not be seen from the ground. There was a sickness to these woods, no quiet thrum of life and soft ambient noises like Rowan was used to. These were not the trees of her home.

 _Home_. The reality of what had happened crashed over her, shattering the hazy bubble around her mind. Reality began to set in, as thoughts began to race through her head. That is, if one could call anything of what was happening _reality_ . How could Rowan begin to rationalize the trees talking to her and the ground swallowing her whole? Was she trapped in some strange delusion? But this oppressive, dark place felt too terribly real. Rowan desperately tried to recall what happened before she passed out. All she could remember was that horrible whispering in the forest. Well, the trees were silent now, their unsettling call ceased. A shudder passed her spine. It was that involuntary gesture suddenly made Rowan aware that she was not in _her_ body. Not exactly.

    Gingerly raising herself up, it quickly became apparent that she had at some point shapeshifted into a large, sand-colored cat. _A mountain lion_ , she settled on after a moment of feeling out her powerful limbs and swishing tail. She shook her great head, feeling the air swish on her whiskers. Rowan remembered her parent’s story of how they had found her, all those years ago on the mountain. The irony of the situation tasted bitter in her mouth. She closed her eyes again, and tried to focus on the heat of the power that lay just beneath her skin. It was still there, warm and reassuring, as it ran through her being in veins of light. But, after a moment of hopeless reaching, Rowan realized she could not touch it. It was like the rushing water of a river beneath thick ice--- just beyond her grasp. Try as she might, it would not respond to her call.

    Fear prickled down her spine. With a baleful look in her inhuman amber eyes, Rowan looked about for anything that might help her situation. There was nothing. Just the muted green shadow of the forest and its unbearable stillness. If this body had been made for it, she might had sobbed. Rowan had never felt so lost before in her whole life; Ophelia and Foxglove had always been beside her, through everything. She had their comforting presence and their familiar home, and she had never wanted anything else. But now, she was alone in a horrible place with no way to get back to them, or back to _herself_ for that matter.

    What had the trees said just before she lost consciousness—” _time to come home”?_ In her mind, Rowan laughed to herself bitterly. If this was home, she didn’t want it. She didn’t want her power if it meant _this_ is where she was from. Twenty five years ago, it had spit her out and left her for her parents to find. And now, suddenly, it wanted to take her back from the happiness her human family had given her? She didn’t want any of it!

    Anger began to replace Rowan’s self-pity. She didn’t often feel that emotion, but now it swamped her, burning and bright. She felt simultaneously helpless, miserable, and downright furious. How dare some mystical entity decide it had to right to push and pull her where it wanted! Rowan cursed whatever powers decided they controlled her life. She cursed her strange biology. She especially cursed this awful forest and it’s dead trees!

    Filled with the resolve to leave the eerie wood and never cross its path again, Rowan flexed her muscles, letting them ripple underneath her fur. Her tail thrashed in agitation. A new mission in mind, she sniffed the air tentatively. It _did_ smell slightly cleaner in one direction, she decided after some consideration. Her four padded feet carried her swiftly forward, nimbly darting back and forth to avoid the underbrush. As she moved, Rowan belatedly considered that there might be other predators in this place besides her. Somewhere as dark and foreboding as this might certainly have something _worse_ than bears. That thought alone made her move along faster. Gods forbid she get ripped away from home just to meet a violent end in the first hour.

    Nothing but the monotonous landscape of dark greenery flew by her for what seemed like hours. Rowan followed the trace of clean air unfailingly, determined not to idle in the forest any longer than she had to. But as the minutes passed and her surroundings remained unchanged, doubt began to wriggle its way into her heart. When stretch after stretch of unremarkable underbrush passed, Rowan truly began to question if her nose had led her astray. If she truly was in another world, the forest really might not have an end; she could run for days and never find her way out, because one didn’t exist. Then finally, _finally,_ just ahead, a shaft of daylight pierced through the darkness. The trees suddenly appeared less dense, growing farther apart and letting the sun peak in. Eventually, they tapered off altogether, and Rowan burst out into the open air.

    A vast grassland lay ahead of her. Just as unfamiliar as the forest, yet a burst of wild joy sang in her heart at the sight of it. It was already a good deal less gloomy, even at first glance. Across the plain, the sun was just rising above a range of towering mountains as they pierced the sky, their slopes hazy blue in the far distance. Between them and the edge of the woods, the grass stretched across; pale and green. It rippled and swayed in the breeze like the ocean. Rocky outcroppings, small trees, and scrub brush punctuated the valley, peaking up over the grass. Presumably a river was nearby as well, as Rowan could hear moving water.

    Compared to the absolute stillness of the forest, the light and movement of the valley was a welcoming sight. It was about early spring, Rowan realized. She could not make out much in the way of wildlife, but a few small brown birds zoomed over the wheatgrass, occasionally diving to chase insects. The cat’s instincts of her feline body briefly had her considering chasing one of the birds, but her human mind prevailed. She personally abhorred eating animal flesh, and they would just be a mouth of feathers, anyway. The mental image of a cougar chasing a sparrow like a house cat _did_ make her snort in amusement. The sound came out instead as a deep rumble. Disconcerted, Rowan _really_ hoped she could shapeshift again sooner rather than later.

    Having no real direction in mind now that she was out of the forest (but not out of the woods she thought grimly), the girl in the shape of a cat stalked the tree line, not comfortable walking out in the open. For what felt like several hours, Rowan headed vaguely northwest. Though the valley was plentiful with rugged beauty, nothing she came across was familiar. Far sooner than she’d have liked, the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the plains were cast into darkness. Though her well-adapted nocturnal eyes could see just fine, the night unsettled her. Rowan truly didn’t know what was out there, what might stir in the dark. It would be wisest to resume her exploration under the light of the sun. Finding a tall tree that was just outside the thick of the woods, Rowan scrambled up it with her four clawed feet, all but disappearing into its leafy umbrella. Once she felt high up enough to be reassured that she was reasonably safe, Rowan picked a branch and settled down, paws dangling off the edge into the night air.

    The moon had come out now, full and luminous as it cast its silver web across the valley. Rowan was reminded vaguely of the ethereal stranger in her dreams. He had appeared to her sleeping mind, just as everything else went to hell. She prickled at the thought. Was it his fault somehow? Though she’d be happy to place the blame on someone more tangible than whispers in the air, it didn’t quite add up. In their brief meeting, he’d seemed not to know much more than she did. His commanding attitude still riled her, though. Did he live in this place, with others like him? She would like to _avoid_ a whole host of bossy, pale fairies— Eldar, as he’d called them.

    Rowan huffed and looked up at the sky again. The longer she looked, the more her heart sank. The stars were wrong. Though they were beautiful, as they glittered brighter and fiercer than any she had ever seen before, these were not the stars Rowan knew. Their sizes and placements were completely foreign. It hit her again, then. She was so far away from home, she had no idea how she would ever get back.

    She wanted to cry or scream or run as far as her legs could take her. But she was a naive girl stuck in the body of cat, that was hiding in a tree in a strange place she didn’t know, and hunger and fatigue stole her ability to act on any of these urges. So instead she lowered her furry head in defeat and let herself drift off into the sanctuary of sleep.

 

_The stars shone softly in the twilight of the forest around her, as a warm breeze swayed the tree branches, and insects chirped in the underbrush. It was the same place in this new world she had woken up to, Rowan realized. But here in her dream, it was like a memory of what once had been, before some vile darkness poisoned the life there._

_The pale man was standing just ahead of her, looking up at the stars thoughtfully. Rowan tried to call out to him, and then realized she was still in the form of a lioness. All that came out was a low whine. He turned at the sound. She shrank back, not sure how he would react to seeing an enormous cat there. Would he attack her? She couldn’t die in a dream, could she?_

_But instead of fearful, his gaze was inquisitive. They regarded each other at length, their silence filled by the soft hum of life the forest._

 

_“...Little stranger?” He asked, finally._

 

_She was not sure why his recognition filled her with such relief, but it did. Unable to voice her response, Rowan opted to lower her feline head in a nod._

 

_He moved closer, still inspecting her curiously. “You are proving to be more of mystery every time we meet.”_

 

_Rowan had no answer for him. But even if she could speak, what was there to say to that? It was silent between them for a long moment._

 

_“We seem to be nearer to each other now.”_

_She instantly knew what he meant, and that it was true. He stood in front of her now looking more tangible, solid than he had ever been before. She could actually sense the weight of his presence in the air around them. Not that it made him appear any more human, with the faint moonlight glow that seemed to shine out from under his perfect skin, and his elegantly pointed ears._

_He reached out towards her, without invitation. This was becoming an unfortunate habit of his. As his hand neared, she could feel the heat of his palm. Static electricity prickled her skin.  Just before his fingers brushed the silky brown fur of her head, she shied away. Letting out a rumbling noise of dissent, Rowan moved to the side, making sure to stay a few feet out of his orbit._

_Her dream visitor did not look pleased.“Why are you frightened of me? What have I done to offend you so?”_

 

_It was increasingly frustrating that he insisted on asking her questions when she had no way of giving a proper answer. He could at least stick to a “yes or no” format. And what kind of question was that anyway? Of course she was frightened of him! He was the most inhuman thing she’d ever met, including herself. He was beautiful, of course, but in a way his utter perfection scared her even more. She had never felt such a...pull in the presence of a human before. That combined with his unnervingly calm, commanding manner made Rowan think she truly did not want to find out what would happen if they met on the physical plane. It was about time to wake up and end this brief encounter, she decided._

_With a final glance at her unearthly companion, she turned and loped off into the forest. She thought she heard him call out after her, but the dream was already fading away._

 

    Dawn was breaking softly over the valley, the hush of the nighttime slowly fading as the birds and other small creatures awoke. Rowan stood up on four legs— regrettably they had not reverted to two yet. Arching her back in a graceful feline stretch, she tried to shake off the stiffness of having spent the night in a tree. She missed her home now more than ever. She missed being a person, she missed sleeping uninterrupted without visits by demanding ghost men. But, more self pity seemed pointless just at this moment. There was little else Rowan could do than continue on in her exploration of this new land, or she’d end up moping in a tree all day. Hunger was now gnawing at her more fiercely than ever. She absolutely hated the thought of killing, but it was inevitable now. At least being a cat would make it easier, as they instinctively had no such moral compulsions. She made her way to the ground, jumping easily from branch to branch until she landed smoothly on her clawed feet.

    The grass concealed her easily, as she moved low to the ground, bright eyes scanning the area carefully. It was quiet, but her ears twitched, picking up a sound just a few yards to her left. Rowan slunk forward carefully, her fuzzy sides barely grazing the underbrush as she stalked her prey. After a few moments of focused creeping, the grass parted and revealed a surprisingly large rabbit. It was turned away from her, long ears relaxed, completely unaware. Rowan’s muscles clenched as she prepared to strike, eyes fixated with deadly intent. Just as she was about to leap forward and seize it between her fearsome teeth, it moved. It had only turned slightly to the side, its button nose snuffling the air curiously. A comically long back foot reached up to scratch its ear. It was… adorable. All of the predatory instincts that had built up in Rowan dispelled. She sank to the ground in defeat. Why did it have to be so _cute_? Why was she still such a wimp, even as an apex predator? She’d probably starve to death before she could bring herself to eat a furry animal.

    Just as she was about to resign herself to starvation by sympathy, she felt someone behind her. Turning around, Rowan was shocked to see an old man. At least, she thought that was what he was. He was covered in layer upon layer of tattered brown clothes, some of which looked to have moss growing on them. His long white and grey beard was speckled with dirt and plant life. A crumpled brown hat sat at a jaunty angle on his head, and he carried a staff made of knotted wood in one hand. The expression on his dingy but kindly face was welcoming, and his dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her.

 

    “I’m terribly glad you decided not to eat my friend, dear. Now, tell me what a nice young lady like you is doing out in the Wilderlands all by herself?”

 

    Hearing his words aloud was like being suddenly dunked in a freezing pool of water. There was a timbre of power in in his voice, and it called out to the power in Rowan. A shudder went through her. The spark of energy triggered something in her, and beneath her animal’s hide the normally warm light residing there roared to life with burning heat as it coursed through Rowan. Her skin was alive with its raging current. The tan fur melted away as her limbs lengthened and her body slimmed out, her face reforming to that of a young woman once more. Eventually the glow faded away— leaving her sitting in the grass, quite naked, very confused, and extremely glad to be back in her body again.

    Rowan inspected the strange old man in front of her with her now gray eyes. He continued to regard her with a kind smile, unfazed by what had just occurred.

 

    “I, uh…thank you…sir.” Rowan swallowed, her throat felt dry with disuse. “How did you know what I was?”

   

    His smile turned into a full grin. “Why, a wizard always suspects the true nature of things. Besides, even stranger magic than you has happened on the spring equinox.”

 

 _A wizard_? Is that what he was? She was not inclined to doubt him, as he certainly looked the part. How else could he have kickstarted her ability into working again, and knocked her back into her own body? He had also just confirmed for her the suspicion that it was six months off from the day when she’d been dragged from home on Earth. Was it backwards or forwards in time, then?

   

    “...I’m very grateful anyway, sir.” She replied eventually, not sure how else to respond.

 

    He barked a laugh at that, stirring a bird from his cap that had apparently been sleeping there. “The name’s Radagast, young lady. None of that ‘sir’ business if you please.”

   

    She couldn’t help but return his smile. “Thank you again then, Radagast. My name’s Rowan.”

   

    “Like the little red-berried tree, quite fitting!”

   

    He bent down slightly to offer her a dirt-caked hand. It didn’t bother Rowan, though, she was certain her state of cleanliness left much to be desired as well. Letting the wizard help her to her feet, she noted that they stood roughly the same height. He was only slightly taller than her, but with the bulk of fabric draped over him, on he was easily twice her width. Standing now on equal footing, her complete nudity was also rather painfully noticeable. Rowan was not overly prudish about nakedness in general-- running around as an animal required no clothes, but it did seem very vulnerable standing out in the open in such a state. Mercifully, Radagast seemed to guess at her chain of thought, and immediately shrugged off one of his outer robes, offering it to her. She took it gratefully, not caring that it had nearly as much soil on it as the forest floor. The fabric swamped her almost comically, but she wasn’t about to be picky.

   

    Rowan nodded in thanks, and looked about the plains surrounding them.“To be quite honest, I’m very far from home, and have no idea where I should go now.”

 

    He nodded solemnly, as if he was already aware of the details of her plight. “You are welcome to stay with me, little tree. I live just over there, just a short walk through the woods.”

 

    She shuddered at the thought of returning to the forest.

 

    “I’m honored by the offer, but…I don’t want to go back in there, ever…I’m sorry.” Rowan looked away, hoping she hadn’t offended him.

 

    “Oh! Of course not, dear, don’t trouble yourself about it. Something dark stirs in the woods these days, I fear. I do my best to hold it back but it does cast quite a shadow.” He paused, muttering to himself a moment. Then Radagast seemed to have settled on an idea, and his face returned to its usual animation. “How silly of me! I know just the place! I daresay, the two of you will have quite a bit in common!”

   

    With that, the wizard turned, excitedly making off through the grass towards some unknown destination. The rabbit that had nearly been her lunch reappeared and followed behind him. Not sure what else to do, Rowan scurried after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 8/12/17
> 
> I suppose we can all guess the fuzzy friend she'll be meeting next!  
> Thank you very much for reading~
> 
> Title is from the song by Neko Case.


	4. Then I Defy You, Stars

_Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,_  
_Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;_  
_And make us happy in the happy bees,_  
_The swarm dilating round the perfect trees._

 

**Chapter Four**

 

    For some time, Rowan and her vagabond wizard-guide walked side by side in silence. On her part, anyway. He always seemed to be humming, whispering, or outright arguing with himself. She didn’t mind though, content to take in the sights around them, while her mind was churning with everything and nothing to say. The grass pricked Rowan’s feet as she walked. It was slightly uncomfortable, but she relished the physical sensation. It was a welcome reminder of the fact that she had _two_ feet again.

    They were heading northwest, away from the forest. The day remained fair and the skies clear, though the sun was rather hot as it slowly moved up in the sky above them. A light breeze stirred in the air, shivering the grass and the branches of the scraggly trees. The sound of running water got louder the farther west that they went. Otherwise, the scene surrounding them was oddly silent. The valley’s loveliness was a delight to take in, but the quietude was slightly unsettling. Where were all the animals? Was there some danger here yet unrevealed? From an outsider’s perspective, Radagast didn’t seem overly worried, but the situation did ring of how songbirds go silent when a hawk is nearby.

    “Why are there so few animals here?” Rowan wondered out loud after a time.

    Radagast stopped mid-tune of the song he was humming.

    “Oh! Yes...once there were many living things in the valley. Bears, foxes, deer, and rabbits roamed freely while thrushes sang in the sky.” His expression then became somber. “But the shadow that rises in the south of Mirkwood, and the dark things that come down from the mountains have long since driven most of them away. Few dare creatures now live in the open here, and even fewer dwell in the forest.”

    Rowan nodded solemnly, not sure how to respond. Radagast, clearly, felt the decay of his homeland on a personal level. She supposed she would feel much the same if she saw the same stillness overcome the lively Appalachian mountain forests at home. _Mirkwood_ was a fitting name for the great woods behind them.

    “What’s the name of the place we are now?” She asked, hoping she had waited long enough for the mood of the conversation to recover.

    Radagast quirked an eyebrow. “We are in Arda, in the land of Middle Earth, in the north Wilderlands, in the Anduin Valley.”

    Her stomach twisted sharply at his words. As Rowan had feared, she was _definitely_ not on Earth. Maybe her parents were right about her truly being an alien. Radagast’s confirmation didn’t leave her crushed as she might have thought she would be. Rowan knew in her heart, from the moment that she’d woken up in Mirkwood, that she was no longer in her world. The unfamiliar stars the night before had only confirmed that for her. Earth, Virginia, the Blue Ridge mountains, they were so very far away now. Radagast had simply given her a name for the place that she’d been abruptly dropped off  in after being ripped from her _true_ home. No matter what happened, she would find a way to defy the power that brought her here. She would find a way back. If she had to rail against the gods themselves her whole life, she would find a way. Looking up at the placid blue sky, Rowan promised herself this.

     Another few minutes passed in quiet contemplation as they walked.

    “I guess you know I am not from here…anywhere… _here_?”

    Her companion nodded, giving her a sympathetic look.

    “Do you know of a way I can go home?”

    Radagast’s expression grew sad again. “No, child, I do not. _That_ is up to powers far above me.”

    His sympathy was heartfelt, but it didn’t ease the pain in Rowan’s heart. “Thank you, anyway, for helping me out.”

    They fell into silence once more.

 

    Not long after, a settlement came into sight on the west horizon. It was actually just one single, large homestead Rowan realized as they drew close. It was comprised of a main dwelling in the center, flanked by a barn and several sheds, with a towering grove of oak trees surrounding them all. The house was rough but lovely— a massive cabin made of stone with massive oaken support beams and a neatly thatched roof. Smoke rose up from the ivy-covered chimney. Altogether, it looked rather like an old, rambling English cottage from a fairy tale. Rowan could see ponies and dogs peacefully milling about the gated yard. The sight of the animals lifted her mood immediately. If only there were some goats, it wouldn’t be so different from Fox Farm.

    Just beyond the house, there was a large woodpile with an equally enormous man beside it, chopping logs with a greataxe. If Rowan had ever described her father as bear-like, this man was as close to a literal grizzly a person could get. He was absolutely massive. Easily eight feet tall, big as the broad side of a barn, with a head of unruly black hair ending in a long beard. What could be seen of his face was rugged, but pleasant. Rather handsome in his own way, Rowan supposed. Being shirtless and clad only in a pair of simple trousers, it was easy to tell how powerful his muscles were, his arms each thicker than her waist. As he set down the axe and turned to look at his unexpected guests, his dark eyes were sharp and intelligent.

    They were a few feet away when Radagast drew to a stop and Rowan followed suit.

    “Greetings, Beorn! I hope you have time to spare for two weary travelers.”

    The bear-man crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. “Radagast, you live not a half day’s walk away. You were just pestering me for honeycakes five nights ago.” He answered in a deep, resonate voice.

    Though Beorn’s tone was humorless, Rowan could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched.  

    Then, his piercing black eyes turned to her. “And who is this? You know I don’t care for strangers, wizard.”

    Rowan shuddered under the weight of his intense stare. She felt pretty ridiculous standing there— barefoot, dirty, naked except for a tattered brown robe that she’d awkwardly tied closed. But she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

    “I’m Rowan. Pleased to meet you.” She was relieved that her voice didn’t waver.

    She extended her hand towards him, willing it not to tremble. Beorn stared at the offered appendage for a long moment, before finally wiping one of his own massive hands on the fabric of his pants and grasping hers to give it a shake. His palm alone absolutely dwarfed her entire hand, it was almost comical. When their skin touched, a small shiver of electricity went through her skin. It was just a whisper of power, a hum like two sounds vibrating on the same frequency. _Magic_ , she realized after a moment. Similar to the way her power had immediately responded to Radagast; but quieter, more synchronous. Beorn seemed to feel it too, and he looked past her over to the wizard, giving him a questioning look.

    Radagast looked quite pleased with himself. “You can imagine my surprise this morning when I found a girl in body of lion about to eat one of my Rhosgobel rabbits!”

    “I wouldn’t have! I just haven’t eaten since yesterday morning!” Rowan interjected, flushing immediately at his cheerful accusation. In truth, she wasn’t sure how she was still standing upright, she was so famished.

    Beorn interrupted their exchange by letting out a brief, barking laugh. Rowan couldn’t help but stare in wonder at his sudden change of humor.

    “Well then, it would be best you came inside and ate something before my ponies go missing.”

 

    The inside of Beorn’s home was earthy and inviting, much like the outside. The walls were the same rough wood and stone as the outside, the floor was finished with smoothed wooden slats. Big, rectangular windows let in warm beams of sunlight, and the remains of a fire glowed in the enormous stone hearth in the main room. From the solid oak beams over head, bunches of herbs and wildflowers hung drying. Several homespun tapestries decorated the walls, unsurprisingly depicting scenes of animals, and the floor had a smattering of woven rugs. A few sleepy dogs meandered, some laying down to doze under the massive wooden table in the center of the room. Ridiculously large bees also flitted about, but Beorn and the dogs didn’t seem bothered by their presence, so Rowan assumed they weren’t harmful.

    To her great relief, Beorn walked over to a shelved pantry and pulled down a tray of golden wheat-bread cakes glazed with honey, placing them on the table and then turning back to the larder to pour the three of them mugs of milk. Rowan never would have thought she would almost cry at the sight of food, but then again, she hadn’t gone this long without eating before. Plopping down at the table, Radagast unceremoniously reached over and stuffed a cake in his mouth, crumbs dropping into his beard. Taking that as invitation enough, Rowan settled onto a tall seat made from a sawn-off log, and bit into a cake with gusto. It was easily one of the best things she’d ever tasted, starving or not. Beorn watched the two of them, slightly raising a bushy eyebrow, before silently digging into his own lunch.

    After the two starving animals and the giant bear-man had finished the majority of their food and drink, Rowan felt sufficiently restored enough to work up the courage to express several of the burning questions on the tip of her tongue.

    “I know this is probably awfully nosy…but, uh, I have to wonder…what _are_ you?” She looked Beorn in the eye, steadily as she could, though her cheeks flushed. She hoped her honest curiosity did not earn her a swift boot out the door.

    Beorn regarded her a moment, seemingly studying her face for any guile. Finding none, he leaned back in his seat and shrugged casually, as he answered. “I am a skinchanger. My people can take the form of a great bear at will.”

    Excitement swelled up in Rowan’s heart. “ _Really_? Can you take the form of other animals? How many of you are there?” She asked hurriedly. The potential of there being a _whole_ _race_ of other creatures like her was thrilling.

    Beorn waved a hand, shushing her line of questioning.

    “There once were many...but I am the last of my kind, as far as I know. We came down from the mountains ages ago, and our numbers have grown thin over the many, many years. I wish I could offer you more hope, child. I see the answered you are seeking, but I can’t give it.” Rowan’s face fell, but he continued. “ I do not think we are the same manner of creature. We may both be under an enchantment, but I think it of a different sort.”

    He gave her a kindly smile. “You’d have to eat a great deal many more of those honey cakes if you wanted to look one of my people.”

    Rowan tried to smile back, but the sudden hope and even quicker disappointment felt like a rock in her chest. She looked down at the floor. There was a white and brown dog by her feet, snoring contentedly. A bee buzzed around his head, and then alit on his ear. It would have been nice, if some good could come of her situation, she thought to herself. If coming to this world could have at least given her answers about there being others of her kind. And for all his gruffness, Beorn did seem like a very good sort of person to be related to.

    “I would hear your story anyway, if you would like to tell it.” He prompted, his deep voice surprisingly gentle.

    She looked up at him, and then to Radagast, who was silent but gave her an encouraging nod. Rowan supposed he didn’t know the whole of it either, though his status as a wizard had already informed him on a large part without any confirmation from her.

    Clearing her throat nervously, Rowan began with what her parents had told her about the day they found her as a child in the mountains. She kept most of the details vague in regards to her childhood growing up, and the life she’d led until recently. Explaining the differences between Earth and Middle Earth was pointless, honestly. Instead, Rowan focused on describing things less tied to a single place on earth, but more generally emotional memories-- first steps in about her power, the beautiful solitude of her home, the kindness and eccentricity of her parents. Orpheus and Foxglove’s faces flashed through her mind as she spoke, tugging at her heart with a sharp pang of longing. Had all traces of her life been erased when she disappeared? Did they even know that she was gone? Rowan wasn’t sure if it was worse for them to feel pain at her absence, or to have never known her at all. It was never a decision they should have to make.

    As she finished her tale with Radagast had finding her and turning her back into a human again, Rowan felt a lump beginning to rise in her throat. She took a gulp of her drink, determined to keep the tears down. The only sound was the light humming of bees and a few popping coals in the fireplace.

    Beorn gingerly placed a massive hand on her shoulder. “We may not be the same, but I believe we are more kindred, than not. You may find a place here if you wish it. These are dark times, and it is safer together than apart...Besides, I am quite used to taking in strays.”

    Rowan couldn’t help but smile this time, her heart melted at his kind offer and unexpected attempt at a joke. Her reply came out soft and reserved, abashed as she was by the generosity of his proposal. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to meet two people so kind to me, but I’m very grateful.”

    Radagast looked between the two of them, quite pleased with himself. “Good. The old beast needs someone to soften him up, anyhow. It’s been too long since he’s had guests. Keeps him on his toes.”

    Beorn gave him a sidelong glance. “This is not an invitation to start welcoming any traveler in the valley on my behalf.”

    Eventually Beorn and Radagast fell back into conversation, discussing the various goings on in the valley as of late. From their description, it was indeed more dangerous out there than Rowan had initially thought. Although, admittedly, it was hard to follow the thread of discussion with so many unfamiliar names and words being thrown about. After a while of attempting to listen in, Rowan drifted away from her seat, meandering around the room and observing the furnishings instead. Everything seemed to be handmade— a little rough around the edges, but sturdy and comfortable.

    Before long her exploring took Rowan out the door into the yard, a couple of dogs snuffling along beside her. It was still early afternoon, and the sudden light of the sun after being the in the dimly lit house temporarily blinded her. Once her eyes could focus again, she was delighted by the sight of animals _everywhere_. There were ponies in the courtyard, and milling about in the oak tree grove. Dogs of all shapes and colors chased each other back and forth. Chickens bobbed their heads as they scuttled around. A dozen great big beehives sat off the back of the house. Rowan sat down on a log and observed the scene her contentedly. All around her, the tall oaks swayed and rustled serenely in the wind. It might not look that much like her home, but it felt like it. Her parents would have truly loved to see it, she thought wistfully.

    A dog pressed its cold nose to the palm of her hand, disturbing her wistful thoughts. It looked a bit like a greyhound, but larger, with longer hair that formed a ruff around its neck and chest. Rowan patted its soft head, feeling the happiness and trust coming from it. She couldn’t _speak_ to animals, exactly. Not that most animals had enough focused thoughts that could be considered words. Rowan just generally had an understanding with them, that somehow they could always tell what the other was feeling. The animals here most definitely _seemed_ smarter and more aware, though. She wouldn’t be surprised if these ones could understand the actual words she was saying. Rowan patted the dog’s head again.

    “I think you’re a very good girl, for what it’s worth.”

    The dog didn’t answer, just wagged its slightly curled tail, letting it thump on the ground. Rowan laughed and stood up, making her way towards the large barn. Inside were about twenty stalls, ten on each side. A loft overhead held a large golden pile of hay, and several bales were stacked at the back of the building. A few windows were cut in the wall, shutters thrown open so that light could come in. Currently, the barn was mostly empty of its inhabitants, except for one bay pony, snoozing in a far stall. Rowan couldn’t blame them, it was a fine day to be outside. She spotted a hanging canvas bag full of mixed grain and seeds, clearly meant as livestock feed, and decided to make herself useful. She tied Radagast’s borrowed robe tighter around herself and slung the bag over her shoulder, tracing her steps back outside to some very excited chickens.

    A couple hours passed in sweaty determination as Rowan fed the birds, mucked the stalls, and combed the fur of any horse or dog she could chase down. She didn’t mind the self-assigned work. It was the same as she was used to at home, and it felt better to be doing something physical than sitting there with _nothing_ to do, stewing with dark thoughts about everything that she’d lost. Being around the animals was soothing, besides. Though these ones were awfully perceptive, they couldn’t ask her anything that would trouble her thoughts.

    Once she’d tired herself out finding furry victims to groom to a mirror shine, Rowan climbed the ladder to the hay loft and flopped down with a long sigh. From her grassy aerie, she could see the dust drifting in beams of light that peeped through the slatted walls of the barn. Bees sleepily wafted past. A turtledove cooed at her from several feet away from where it had settled, downy grey-brown chest puffed up as it roosted. Rowan smiled and reached out to gently touch its head softly. She wondered if Beorn and Radagast were still at the table talking, it had to have been a few hours by now.

    It was dark when Rowan opened her eyes. She blinked. When had she fallen asleep?

    “Far be it for me to disagree with your choice of lodging, Rowan, but Beorn thought you might be happier if offered a bath and a bed.”

    She looked down to see Radagast standing there in the moonlight, smiling up at her in her perch from his place below on the ground. Rowan groaned and stretched, dislodging three doves that had apparently decided she made an excellent bed herself. Half-standing for moment to let the hay fall off of her, she then scooted to the edge of the loft and shimmied down the ladder. Once on her feet again, she brushed off what lingering straw she could and grinned sheepishly up at Radagast.

    “I’m sorry, how long was I out?” Rowan asked, stifling a yawn. She also realized it was the first time in days that she hadn’t dreamed. Did ghostly visits from strange men only happen in the nighttime here?

    “Long enough for Beorn and I to eat and talk far too much, and for him to leave on his nightly patrol.” The wizard responded.

    “Patrol?”

    “In the form of a bear, he keeps guard over the Goblin passes down from the mountains, the ford at the Carrock, and the southern edge of Mirkwood. Very few evil things dare trespass into the land when he is about.”

    The mere mention of goblins made Rowan shudder. She wasn’t sure what their exact definition was in Middle Earth as compared to her world, but she wasn’t looking forward to finding out any time soon. She thought of the night she’d spent out in the open valley. How close had she been to danger? Or had Beorn unwittingly kept her safe?

    Radagast placed a wrinkled hand on Rowan’s shoulder, and began to lead her inside.

    “Come, let us not talk of such dark and creeping creatures in this peaceful place, my dear.”

 

    Rowan was exceedingly pleased to find Beorn had an indoor washroom. It was a humble affair--  a small chamber off the side of the house with a water pump, a bucket, a copper bathtub, and a small fireplace. She immediately set about pumping water so she could wash the grime off her body as soon as possible. Fortunately, it was just warm enough outside and inside that the water didn’t _need_ to be heated first, so rather than take the time to fill the tub, she opted to just stand in it and dump lukewarm water over her head. After a very long while of diligently scrubbing and rinsing, and repeating, Rowan finally put down the bucket and considered herself clean as she could possible get. She twisted the water out of her hair, and then dried herself with one of the rags that had been hung over a rope strung from wall to wall. Before they’d parted, Radagast had also been thoughtful enough to hand her a cotton shirt, which she was assumed was Beorn’s, because it easily reached past her knees. Rowan wasn’t about to complain, though, as it felt absolutely amazing to actually wear something clean and resembling real clothing. With a bit of rope tied at the waist, it really wasn’t so bad. Her impractically long red hair was clean and braided, her pale skin was flushed pink with her efforts at scrubbing it, and Rowan felt like…herself. For the first time, really, since she had been whisked away and dropped in Mirkwood.

    When she finally exited the washroom, Radagast was nowhere to be found, and Beorn had not returned, so Rowan made her way to the bedchamber at the end of the hall that the wizard had shown her. The grey dog she’d met earlier appeared at her side and followed along. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open. A single candle in a tin hurricane lamp was lit, soft yellow dots of light illuminating the small, square room. It was sparsely furnished— just a bed, a row of shelves on the wall, and a table with an upright log for a chair. The bed was actually rather massive compared to her slight figure, she assumed it had been made for someone more of Beorn’s stature. But the straw mattress was blessedly comfortable as she crawled onto it, burrowing underneath the homespun blankets as the dog hopped up after her and curled up behind her knees. It reminded Rowan of when she was very small, when she had nightmares and she would sneak into her parent’s great big bed and sleep in between them. Sadness clawed painfully at her heart. The bed was cold in contrast to the warm memory of her parents beside her. Rowan tucked in closer to her new canine friend.

 

_“You have been crying.”_

_His voice was low and soft, as he looked at her curiously from where he sat next to her on the horizontal trunk of a fallen tree._

_Rowan reached up and touched her face, her fingers came away wet._ Oh.

_When had she started dreaming? It was night, as always, and the stars were out in their glory. The air in the forest was pleasant and warm. Her moonlike companion was sitting a few feet away, his long nearly-white hair was drawn back from his temples in two braids, making his sharp ears seem more pronounced. His robe, embroidered with silver, elegantly draped around him, spilling onto the ground like the foam of a waterfall. With all his grace and stately air, he made the felled tree seem like a throne._

_“I’m lost, and too far from home to find my way back.” She explained, looking away._

_“I suppose that is why we seem much nearer to each other.” He observed._

  _Rowan nodded._

_“But it doesn’t explain how you took the form of a giant cat, last we spoke.”_

_He wasn’t going to just let that slide then, was he? “Since this is a dream, how do you know I didn’t just_ want _to look that way?”_

_His face remained unamused, calling her bluff._

_“Fine, I’m a...skinchanger.”_

_His expression altered at that, looking at her with renewed curiosity. “I have only heard tales of men who can take the form of bears. I must say, women into cats is a novelty.” His brilliant blue eyes were fixed upon Rowan now as if he could dissect her being with his gaze alone. “Are there many of you, in this far away home of yours?”_

_Rowan’s face heated under his scrutiny. “N-no, not really.”_

_If he thought she could only turn into a cat, she wasn’t about to correct him. Better to hold some cards close to her chest. If the physical feeling of his presence was any indication of his nearness to her in Middle Earth, then she certainly was going to have to keep a few tricks up her sleeve should their paths ever cross in waking hours. Rowan was not a wily person by nature, so she’d take her advantages where she could find them._

_If he was this imperious and intimidating in a dream, he must be terrifying on the physical plane. He hadn’t threatened her, not yet anyway, but he definitely seemed to be the sort of man that got exactly what he wanted._

_Deciding to change the subject, lest he somehow glean another one of her secrets, it occurred to Rowan that she had yet to learn the name of her nightly visitor. She looked up to meet his eyes, and tried to steady the terrified quivering in her chest that happened whenever she stared directly at his otherworldly perfection._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“You may call me Thranduil, little stranger.” His mouth curved into a slight smirk._

_She nodded in acknowledgment, trying not to let his patronizing tone grate on her. Rowan mulled over his name. It was frankly one of the most bizarre titles she’d ever heard, but somehow it rather suited him._

_“My name is Rowan.”_

_Thranduil smiled with such a smug glint to his eye, Rowan was surprised sharp predatory teeth didn’t peek over his lips. He offered his hand towards her. She extended hers to grasp his, hoping it didn’t look as wobbly as she felt. The scenario was an odd parallel to her introduction with Beorn earlier that day, though the skin-changer’s rugged grandeur was the exact opposite to this elf's icy beauty. Being so close to Thranduil’s overwhelming presence seemed to unnerve Rowan completely every time they met._

 _As their skin came in close proximity, she felt it again…the strange electricity. Like static arching and reaching between their two outstretched hands, trying to form an invisible bridge._ Magic _. At the last moment, a terrible fear came over Rowan, the suffocating feeling that had instinctively caused her to avoid his touch every time before. She tried to draw back, but his hand darted forward to close the distance, and clamped down on hers._

 _A cry of protest died on Rowan’s lips as pure_ power _spiraled up her arm through their joined hands, flowing into her body. The magic seared her skin where their hands touched, so hot the fire burned ice cold. It raged through her like nothing she’d felt before, setting every nerve alight with feeling. Her vision went white, and then was filled a rush of glimpses at random images, fragments of memories, cascading through her mind in a torrent._

_Glittering caverns. Massive trees in fall, winter, spring, summer. A young boy with yellow-blond hair. A  woman with sad grey eyes and long raven hair. Swords striking each other in battle. Shimmering white jewels and scorching red fire._

_Finally the images stopped and the two of them parted— gasping for breath, staring at each other in disbelief._

_“What_ are _you?” Thranduil demanded, ice blue eyes deadly._

_“I’m no one! I’m just trying to go home!”_

_Rowan felt on the verge of tears again. She scrambled off the tree and backed away. Thranduil rose smoothly and followed after her, matching her step for step. She edged away until she felt the bite of rough bark in her back through Beorn’s borrowed shirt._

_“Little stranger, don’t run. I did not mean to lash out at you in anger. I am surprised as you are.” His tone was softened, lilting, like a person trying to coax a frightened kitten. The look in his eyes had gone from anger to something sharper, keener. The former curiosity he had regarded her with was now heated with something akin to hunger._

_“Tell me where you are. You are lost, alone in an unfamiliar land. I can keep you safe. Eru has clearly seen fit that we should meet.”_

  _Rowan shook her head vigorously. “N-no, I’m good, thanks.”_

_“What cause have I given you to fear me so?” His hypnotic tone persisted, cloying and sweet._

 _In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand raise as if to touch the side of her face. Rowan tried to collect her scattered thoughts and focus her frazzled brain. This dream was getting far too dangerous and she needed to wake up._ Now _. Raising her arm, bent at the elbow, she slammed it back against the tree’s abrasive surface, as hard as she could. The pain bloomed bright and hot. Waves of tooth-gritting agony went through her. Her head swam. Thranduil’s pale visage melted away in her blurry sight._

 

    Rowan gasped and bolted upright, shaking with cold sweat. The room was empty and still. Moonlight shone through the open window. The grey dog raised its head to look at her sleepily, before curling back up again. She rose from the bed stiffly, deeply disturbed by what she had seen, straining to process what just happened. When their hands touched, had she seen fragments of _his_ memories? Did he then see hers?

    The room was relatively warm, but goosebumps broke out over Rowan’s skin anyway. Damn her infernal curiosity, she shouldn’t have even struck up a conversation with him! And yet, she knew she probably still wouldn’t be able to resist lingering the next time their unconscious minds met. That smug fairy was too strangely compelling. And underneath it all, his memories had seemed rather…sad. A long life fraught with war and loss. Rowan crossed her arms and hugged herself, then hissed in pain and drew back when she touched the joint of her right arm. The skin there was broken, angry and red. A shiver went through her again.

    She looked out the window onto the quiet valley. Somewhere in the far distance, she could just barely make out the dark figure of a colossal bear on the horizon. Shrugging the massive shirt off over her head, Rowan padded quietly through the house on bare feet, careful not to wake the sleeping beasts. Her long, unbound hair skimmed her naked back as she went. Her walk purposeful and her stance determined, her eyes softly glowing green in the blackness. Slipping out the unbolted door, her gait broke into long strides. Then she was jogging, skin glowing and body warping until she was running full tilt with four massive paws. The earth shuddered beneath her in a satisfying testament to her power. Rowan let the rippling body of the black bear carry her away across the plains towards Beorn as he kept his vigil.

 

Her father’s words echoed in her mind: _“Powerful people seek to possess special things.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 8/19/17
> 
> Thank you for reading! Much love to anyone who has continued with me so far.  
> I'm kind of taking a middle road between the books and the movie, with most of the places and characters.  
> I really love writing about Beorn, he needs more love. Also, living in a house with a ton of dogs and horses sounds like heaven. 
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from the song by The Receiving End of Sirens.


	5. The Killing Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some semi-graphic depiction of violence and blood in this chapter.

_But power of blood itself releases blood._  
_It goes by might of being such a flood_  
_It will have outlet, brave and not so brave._  
_And now it is once more the tidal wave_  
_That when it has swept by leaves summits stained._  
_Oh, blood will out. It cannot be contained._

  
**Chapter Five**

  
    Beorn and Rowan spent the night in silent watch. His enormous presence was comforting and helped chase away the chilling specter of her dreams. Fortunately, nothing stirred in the dark valley. The woods loomed behind them, vast and still as the mountains to the other side. Together they ambled along, an unnaturally large brown bear followed by a smaller black one, until the moon faded away and was replaced by the first pink rays of light.  
    When they finally made their way back to the house, the sun had just risen over the misty mountains, illuminating the white snow on their peaks. Everything was as they’d left it, but cheerier in the light of morning. The dogs and ponies were rousing from sleep, and the chickens were already scurrying around, anxious to be fed. It seemed to Rowan nothing evil could touch the warmth and life here, in the peaceful home Beorn had made. It also occurred to her that Radagast was nowhere to be found.  
    Shifting back to human form, she stood up and looked about for any sign of the old man that had rescued her yesterday.  
  
    “Where has the wizard gone off to?” She asked the bear next to her.  
  
    The air around Beorn seemed to shudder as his animal body warped and narrowed until he was standing beside her as a man, a little less hairy, but not by much. It was fascinating to watch his shifting— he did not fill with light the way she did, but rather seemed to blur together until becoming solid once more. She wondered if it felt different to him too. For her, it felt like slipping into warm water, nothing like those werewolf movies she’d watched as a kid. It was also a relief that he didn’t have any apparent hang ups about the inevitable nudity either, as that was just a fact of shapeshifting.  
      
    “That is his way. He has likely gone back to his home, Rhosgobel. He’ll turn up again soon enough to vex me again.”  
      
    Rowan stifled a chuckle over Beorn’s ornery attitude towards his friend.      
      
    They parted ways as they headed inside, Rowan going to wash her dirty hands and feet and put some semblance of clothing back on. She assumed Beorn was doing the same in his part of the house. As she wiped off the dust and mud from walking on all fours, and combed her fingers through her hair, the aching in her muscles made her wince. But it was somewhat pleasant at the same time, a reminder that she had accomplished something. Though little had happened on the midnight patrol, being trusted enough to be allowed along was quite an honor to her. It made her sad to think Beorn had kept watch alone all this time. His animal menagerie was sweet and trusting but they couldn’t really comprehend what it was like to be alone, to be the last of his kind. Rowan thought maybe she could understand that.  
    Rousing herself from those gloomy sentiments, she slipped the oversized tunic onto her lanky frame and headed back to the main room. On the table, there was the remains of her host’s breakfast and an untouched plate of food that she assumed was hers. It was sweet of Beorn to think Rowan could eat even half of what he could, clearly, the giant had not eaten with a regular-sized human in some time. Radagast was obvious exception, she had no idea where he put all the food he ate last night. After eating as much as she could and treating some very happy dogs to the rest, she went back outside to discover what Beorn was up to. She came upon him finishing the wood pile he’d been interrupted at the previous day. There was no way she could even begin to lift one of his axes, which were more than half her height, so she resolved to begin moving the chopped wood to the stacks beside the indoor fireplaces. Once Beorn had finished his axe wielding some time later, he casually put her efforts to shame by scooping up four loads worth into his arms in one swoop. Rowan pretended to pout as he gave her a sideline glance with just a hint of smugness, and then she just burst into a fit of laughter instead.  
    The day continued in a similar fashion, Beorn going about his chores as he would with or without a guest, and Rowan tagging along behind, determined to make herself useful. He didn’t talk much unless necessary, gruff as ever, but she expected that and it rather suited her introspective mood anyway. She also didn’t fail to notice that he would subtly slow down his long strides to let her shorter legs catch up with him.  
    As they began their afternoon project, making repairs to the thatched roof of the house after the long winter had damaged it, Rowan did actually find herself useful. Being smaller and fleet of foot, she could easily scale the ladder up and down to bring him bundles of straw, as he secured them in place with flexible green twigs. It was fascinating to watch and satisfying to help, even if the work left her sweaty and covered in pieces of dried grass. Middle Earth so far had involved a lot of getting dirty. There were several more spring repairs to the various buildings on his property that would need to be seen to soon— crooked doors, broken shutters, warped floorboards. It amazed her that he managed it all without help from anyone. Well, the dogs tried to help. A small crowd of them had gathered below at the base of the house, panting in excitement as they watched the two people work. Occasionally one would pick up a thatch bundle and bring it over to her, but that usually ended in the others chasing that one so that they could be the helpful one rewarded with a pat instead.  
    When the sun began to set, Beorn and Rowan put aside the day’s efforts and headed inside for a brief respite. When he walked outside to leave for the night, her heart melted a bit when he held to door open behind him, silently asking her to follow.  
      
    The rest of the week passed in much the same way. By night, they walked the open valley in the form of animals— Beorn always bear of course, but Rowan sometimes took the opportunity to be other creatures like a huge Siberian tiger or a agile mountain lion (her jokes about lions, tigers, and bears went unappreciated by her new friend). Once she’d transformed into a large timber wolf, but that had not gone over well. There seemed to be a general prejudice against wolves in Middle Earth, Beorn mumbling something about “cursed wargs”, so she let the subject drop and stuck to other predators. During the day, they cared for the animals and continued the repair and upkeep of his lodgings, slowly making progress through the things the winter had ravaged. Rowan was more than relieved to find Beorn did not eat meat. His respect for life, down to his fat bumblebees, was deeply moving. Again, she thought of how her parents might love to see this place. She did not miss them any less, but she tried not to let the pain and longing incapacitate her any more, sure that one way or another she’d see them again and would have to do her best to make them proud until then.  
    Rowan mostly slept in the early morning, just after they returned from their nighty roaming, grabbing a few hours of rest before starting all over again. A surprisingly benefit to this nocturnal schedule was that she no longer dreamed if she slept during the day. Each time, total blackness greeted her as her head flopped onto the pillow. After some consideration, she went with the theory that she and Thranduil must have to be sleeping at the same time to share a mental space in the dreamworld. Thankfully, he did not prove to be as much of a night owl. The lack of interaction didn’t mean she could really keep her mind off of him, as his strangely perfect face often flashed across her mind unbidden. She wondered who he was in this world— presumably someone of power, from his mannerisms and expensive taste in clothing? She hadn’t had the courage to ask Beorn, afraid it might upset the budding friendship between them if he knew her dreams were haunted by some inhuman noble-person. And frankly, the last dream interaction had terrified her. Rowan had no idea what magic caused their sleeping minds to seek each other out, or what made them connect with such electricity from just a touch, even in a dream. His reaction had not helped either, equal parts anger and intrigue. She knew they would talk again, eventually. She admitted that she would actually look forward to that, in a way, but she was not ready for that meeting to come, not for a long time.  
    Everything fell into a comforting rhythm as Rowan adjusted to her situation in this new world, until she finally discovered what Goblins were.  
  
    It was moonless that night as she and Beorn stalked the western side of the valley, close to the river ford at the Anduin. The Carrock, a towering stone monolith, jutted from the river’s waters, which were much calmer here where the river widened. The natural eyot had winding stone steps carved into it by Beorn many years ago, he’d explained when they had climbed up it several nights before to a glorious view of the grassland. But tonight it seemed gloomy and forbidding, rising up against the cloudy sky. They had almost made it to the river’s edge when Rowan perked up her ears and lifted the weight of her boxy jaguar’s head to a sound that sounded eerily like the clink of metal. Beorn was already rigid with alertness, she noted. She smelled the air. There was a foul scent carried away from them on the breeze, but she caught it. It smelled like iron, rotting flesh, and dried blood. Rowan chanced a look over at Beorn who stared into the darkness with trembling fury as his massive fur covered muscles prepared to charge.  
    They did not have to wait long. Five dark silhouettes could be seen creeping at the base of the Carrock, trying to ford the Anduin here where the river was shallow. She could not make out much detail of their features but she could see with her cat’s eyes that they were roughly human sized and shaped, carrying spears and swords, and wearing a combination of animal skins and random pieces of metal armor. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting goblins to look like, but they surprised her. Maybe she’d thought them smaller? Less human-like? All she’d gotten from Beorn is that they were evil and he had a terrible undying hate of them.    
    The bear beside her bellowed out a thundering roar that rang in her ears, and charged across the knee deep waters towards the band of interlopers. Rowan hesitated for a second but then she followed after, splashing through the river to the sandy rise that surrounded the stone eyot. The goblins had immediately turned at Beorn’s battle cry, swiveling their twisted, horrible faces to look towards the animals that now raced towards them. Hoisting high their swords and spears, the goblins met them in battle with bone chilling screeches of their own.  
    Beorn reached them first, knocking one to the silty ground with the impact of his huge paw against its chest. Pinning the squealing goblin there helpless, he simply closed his massive jaws around its skull and ripped it clear from the neck and shoulders, throwing the decapitated head yards away from with the force of his swing. Immediately, the remaining four set upon him, trying to pierce his thick hide with their cruel weapons. Fear kicked Rowan’s heart, blinding fear for her companion, spurring her on as she bunched her powerful back legs and then released into a flying leap that took her into the air to dislodge the goblin that had been trying to get atop Beorn’s back. She took it towards the ground with her, instinct soaring in her blood, all conscious thought gone for the thrill of combat and need to protect her friend. _Blood._ She opened her great square jaws and sank them into the foul creature’s neck as they fell together into the water, the river splashing all around in the chaos. _Blood._ Her teeth sank into the skin like hot wax and crunched against bone, the goblin’s cries of fury turning to wet choking and then going silent. _Blood._ The edge of a sword bit into her back and she whipped around, letting the other carcass float away from the churning water. Another goblin was lunging at her, and she ducked and swerved, coming up under its sword arm to rake her razor claws down the unprotected skin of its legs. _Blood._ The monster stumbled and she used the creature’s own body as ballast to repel off of, so she could lunge upward to catch its arm between her teeth, shattering it instantly with hundreds of pounds of bite force. _Blood._ It let out an unearthly scream and fell to its knees as she let go. It took only a powerful swipe of her paw to meet its throat from this angle, tearing away a ragged chunk of flesh that poured forth a deadly gush of black blood. The goblin fell back into the water, joining its companions down river. _Blood._  
    Only one goblin was left standing, still locked in combat with Beorn, trying and failing deflect his blows with a jagged spear and roughly hewn round-shield. The shield shattered with one particular forceful strike of claws, leaving it open for Beorn to lunge forward and clamp his teeth around the goblin’s middle, shaking his great head back and forth and he swung the goblin in his maw. Within moments its cries were silent and he let go, it having met the same fate as the others, floating away in the Anduin like so many fallen leaves.

  
    The night was quiet save for the grunting breathing of the bear and the cat.

  
    Rowan tried to take in steady deep gulps of air as her raging blood cooled, the battle over and reality setting in. She stumbled over to the river bank, shapeshifting back to her human body as her mental concentration on her power failed. The world tilted. She felt unmoored and adrift in a dizzying haze of confusion. She listed to the side, unable to stay upright as she sank to her knees, vertigo crushing her brain and blackness edging her vision. The foul taste of spoiled meat was on her tongue. Rowan doubled over, retching into the grass. Bile mixed with black blood spilled from her mouth. She laid down on her side, gasping for air like a fish out of water, pale and vulnerable with her body drawn inward.

  
     She remembered the first and only time she had killed. She’d been a teenager then, running through the woods as a spotted lynx, small and lithe and carefree. Suddenly, a groundhog had crossed her path, small and fat and defenseless. She didn’t even stop to think before pouncing on it, breaking its neck in seconds. It was over before she had realized what she’d done. It wasn’t that it bothered her when animals hunted, that was a natural and inevitable part of life. But Rowan was simultaneously the fox and the rabbit, the hunter and the prey, and she had the power to chose. She didn’t need to take life to eat, she and her parents had been vegetarians her whole life, so killing the groundhog was absolutely meaningless. Its death meant nothing, served nothing. She hadn’t thought, she let the cat take over, and it was dead. Just like that. Her parents had come home that day to their crying daughter insisting on a viking funeral for a dead rodent.

  
    This time was different. Rowan knew that. The goblins had been clearly set on killing her and Beorn, they made that choice when they snuck down from the mountains. Had they had not been dispatched first, she would have met the same fate. They were thinking, reasoning creatures that committed disgusting acts of violence for the thrill of it, not hunger or defense. They would have happily worn her hide as a trophy had she given them the chance. But it had felt so _good_. And the choice had been so _easy_. Deciding to kill them was so simple that it wasn’t even a option. She had let her urges overcome her without even a thought of resistance. What if she had gotten carried away and behaved that way around one of the loving animals at Beorn’s home? Without reason, where did her mind end and the predator’s begin?  
  
    Beorn’s huge, human hand touched her back gently, moving her hair aside where the wet strands stuck to her skin. His fingers suddenly sent a shock of pain through her, reminding her of where the goblin’s sword had cut into the flesh just above her left shoulder blade. Fortunately as a jaguar, her skin was much thicker, so the wound could have been much worse. It still stung like hell though, as she grimaced and tried to sit up. Beorn’s hands steadied her into a seated position. She felt like a zombie, mind struggling to connect with her body.  
  
    “Are you in pain?”  
  
    “It’s fine.”  
      
    “Are you certain?”  
      
    He looked worried and confused as he hovered. He was suddenly not a warrior, but an awkwardly large man not sure what to do with a girl seemingly going into shock. Rowan looked up at him, big grey eyes shimmering with tears.  
      
    “I killed them. And I liked it.”  
  
    Beorn’s expression softened. “Yes, and they would have killed you and rejoiced in your death so much more.”  
      
    Rowan nodded mutely, knowing his words to be true but not able to let herself accept them just yet. She shivered in the open air, bare skin wet and covered in an itchy mixture of river muck and blood. Her drying hair was plastered to her head uncomfortably and her mouth still tasted bitter and awful with goblin flesh and bile. Beorn gave her head an hesitant pat, clearly unused to comforting anyone so distressed, and stood up so he could transform back into his shaggy ursine self. Lowering his hulking body as low to the ground as he could, he knelt in front of her, waiting. Rowan realized he intended her to ride home atop his back, and was strangely touched by the gesture. Willing her trembling limbs to move, she slowly crept over and grasped his surprisingly soft fur, pulling herself up onto his broad back. Reasonably secure and nestled against his shoulders as she held onto his pelt, she gave Beorn a quiet hum, nodding with her face pressed to his back. Understanding her signal, he started to slowly trudge home, great fuzzy body rocking gently side to side with his gait.  
    Her eyes felt heavy and dry as she struggled to keep them open, the wild burst of adrenaline now long gone and leaving exhaustion in its wake. Beorn’s swinging steps weren’t helping either, and he felt very warm beneath her. It was easier to give into the wave of darkness than fight anymore, Rowan decided idly as she let her eyes close.  
      
   _Fresh blood dripped from her back, trailing down her skin in tiny rivers until it hit the leaves beneath her feet with a soft plop. She looked down at her hands. They were coated in liquid black, rank with the decaying smell of goblin blood. Down her legs, her own red blood continued to trickle to her feet, mixed with the black on her skin. Her hair clung her back and arms, appearing dark as wine in the shadows of the forest. Rowan felt like she should be screaming, but it was as if she were watching herself from behind a foggy window. Her body seemed foreign, separate._  
_She heard a sharp inhale behind her. She turned. Thranduil was standing there, more regal than ever before. His hair fell straight and unbraided, accented with a metal crown in the shape of twisted branches, complete with tiny silver and emerald leaves. He wore his usual long, shining silver brocade tunic, over dark breeches and leather riding boots. A looser fitting outer robe fell about his shoulders, also silver but a softer material, with a pale green silk lining contrasting where it peeked out._  
_It seemed ironic, she thought distantly, that he would be wearing more clothing than ever, while she stood there naked and covered in blood._  
  
_His expression was no longer intense with anger, like the last time she saw him. Instead it was….apologetic? Concerned?_  
  
_“Hello” she said blankly. Her voice was strange to her own ears._  
  
_“Are you hurt?” He sounded surprisingly anxious._  
  
_“Only a little.”_  
  
_“What happened to you?”_  
  
_“There were goblins. They’re gone now.”_  
  
_Rowan tried to think about what happened, but it hurt to try and focus on it. It didn’t feel real. She didn’t feel real. Even though she was dreaming she felt so, so tired. Why couldn’t she just fade into darkness instead of dreaming? Her head ached._  
_Thranduil had stepped closer. Standing next to her, so near, he seemed taller than ever as he towered over her. He was slowly waving a ring covered hand in front of her face, trying to catch her attention. She blinked. How long had he been doing that?_  
  
_“Don’t fade away, Riressil.”_  
  
_She looked at him in his shining pale blue eyes. She was pretty sure that wasn’t her name. but her mouth and head felt stuffed with cotton and it was difficult to think. Her eyes drifted up to the glittering gems on his crown. They twinkled like little green stars._  
  
_“…no, my name’s Rowan.”_  
  
_“That it is.”_  
  
_There was a rustling of fabric and then his outer robe was silky and soft against her skin as his draped it over her, pulling it together at the front. It smelled lightly of rain and pine trees. He was very careful not to let their bare skin touch but she still sensed the electric static when his hands came close to her shoulders. She felt better now that she couldn’t see all the blood, but there was an odd possessiveness to his actions, as he adjusted the fabric around her. It disconcerted her._  
  
_“I would hate to think that you let yourself come to harm out of fear of me.”_  
  
_That was silly. She walked into danger all by herself._  
  
_“If you just tell me where you are, you will be safe.”_  
  
_No, she was safe. Beorn would keep her safe. Rowan shook her head at him._  
  
_He sighed in frustration, pressing an elegant hand to his pale forehead. “You are the most confounding creature I have ever met.”_  
  
_“Well, you are the prettiest I’ve ever met.” She replied honestly. It was all she could think of to say at the moment._  
  
_Thranduil’s frustrated expression disappeared in surprise. He lips softened into a vague smile. “I am flattered you think so. Though by your admission, I am the only elf in your acquaintance.”_  
  
_Elf? Oh, Eldar. That made sense. And here she’d been thinking of him as a weird kinda fairy. A sharp pain in her shoulder blade brought her attention back to her body. The broken skin ached like a ghostly hand was putting pressure on it. She suddenly felt as though something was pulling on her consciousness, drawing her back towards that dark tunnel back to the waking world._  
  
_“Goodbye.” She managed to blurt out before the dream disappeared._  
  
    Beorn’s broad shoulder filled Rowan’s field of vision. Raising her head a little, she could see the dim shadows the walls of his great hall, and the orange glow of the fireplace. She was partially wrapped in a blanket and sitting propped up against the side of a chair as he leaned over her, cleaning the wound on her back. There was a wooden bowl of blood stained water on the table next to them, and a mortar and pestle filled with green mush that smelled like goldenseal and thyme. She winced as he pressed down again with a rag.  
      
    “I am glad to see you have returned.” His voice rumbled next to her head.  
      
    “That hurts.”  
      
    “Yes, but it will become infected if I do not cleanse it.”  
  
    She huffed. He wasn’t wrong.  
      
    “Thank you”.  
      
    He nodded and continued his work.  
      
    After he had finished wiping away the blood and dirt, applied a salve, and wrapped several layers of linen bandages diagonally across her chest and back to hold it in place, she was free to go. Rowan still felt strange and hollow, but steadier than before, as she gingerly set her feet back on the ground. Beorn nodded to her and departed, off to take care of the waiting animals and other responsibilities. He’d need to get some sleep himself, too, after his own efforts that night. She drifted down the hall to the washroom, still wrapped in the blanket, and she could see through the windows that the morning had come.  
      
    Finally free of debris, dressed in a different shirt of Beorn’s, dark blue this time, Rowan sat on a stump outside idly picking at the honey cake she held in her hand. Her grey dog companion sat by her side, watching her carefully, hoping for a crumb for fall. She looked down at its eager brown eyes and sighed, breaking the cake in half and giving one side to her gluttonous little friend. It was going to get quite large if she didn’t learn to resist those eyes. In the light of day, everything was the same as it had been the past week— warm, peaceful, homey. It was safe here, a little oasis amidst a place fraught with danger.  
    Rowan realized then it was because of the sacrifices Beorn made that this refuge could exist. It wasn’t just that he kept watch over the valley, he was prepared, every night, to risk his own life and to take life without hesitation. He didn’t have the luxury of hiding away here and hoping the outside world didn’t touch him. He had to crush his enemies between his teeth and fight for every inch of his home. There were real monsters and real enemies here. Rowan had grown up in a place where safety was taken for granted, she had never truly been in danger before. Even when she was out alone in the forest, most predators had long since dwindled in numbers on the east coast. She had the luxury of choosing not to kill, choosing to live in peace without consequences. As long as her existence was kept a secret, there was nothing that could really hurt her. Her heart ached. Part of her wanted to stay here, to cuddle up with the dogs at night and be warm inside and not think about what was out there. But she couldn’t live in blissful ignorance knowing that her friend who had done so much for her was out there alone. He had never asked for her help in anything, but if she wanted a part of his peace, she needed to participate in it. She couldn’t remain naive.

  
    It took another week before the skin on her shoulder had knitted together and was declared free of infection. That night, as Beorn went out the door, she stood up and resolutely followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super excited to work on the next chapter, we'll meeting new people and movin' along...  
> I really through myself into writing this one, I'm going through some personal stuff and it's much nicer to write about bears, elves, and dogs.
> 
> Title is from the song by Amanda Palmer.


	6. First Breath After Coma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Again, some semi-graphic depiction of violence in this chapter.

_Nature's first green is gold,_  
_Her hardest hue to hold._  
_Her early leaf's a flower;_  
_But only so an hour._  
_Then leaf subsides to leaf,_  
_So Eden sank to grief,_  
_So dawn goes down to day_  
_Nothing gold can stay._

  
**Chapter Six**

    Wildflowers, blue and purple, sprung up everywhere, peeping through the tall waves of grass as far as Rowan could see, a vast ocean of color.  She let out a joyful whoop and ran through them, spinning and turning in unfettered joy. The sky was pool of warm blue only interrupted here and there by little white wisps of vapor. The air was hot but sweet with the smell of blossoms and earth, and yesterday’s rain. Rowan’s long hair swirled around her, shining like a flame where the sun’s rays tangled in it. Her angular cheekbones softened with the swell of a huge grin, her sharp nose wrinkled with laughter, and her cool grey eyes sparkled with exuberance.  It was late summer and the last crowning of flowers before the fall delighted her to no end.  
    Beorn trudged behind her, giving her antics a wry smile. The huge man was much the same as ever, but to the careful eye he appeared a bit less like he was carrying the whole weight of Middle Earth on his shoulders. His beard was rather neatly braided for once, a few blue cornflowers unwillingly tucked into it at Rowan’s cheerful insistence. He carried a cloth satchel at his side, bits of plants and greenery peeking out of it.  
  
    “We are here for medicinal herbs, not making flower crowns.” He chided.  
  
    Rowan turned and laughed at him, face flushed with running.  
  
    “Oh hush, you big grump. You look very fetching like that, brings out your eyes!”  
  
    Beorn harrumphed and bent down to pick some purple coneflower.  
      
    Four months had passed since Rowan appeared on the edge of Mirkwood forest. Life had found a way to move on. She had met with Radagast several times over her stay there, discussing their theories about how she got to Arda and how she might return to Earth. They both had decided the biannual equinox was the key to both. Since then, Radagast had tried to collect what information he could on his travels, but so far it had been fruitless. Rowan did not give up hope. If she had to wait for every equinox for every year for the rest of her life, she knew eventually there would be a way. Until that day, though, she did enjoy her current life in the Anduin Valley. There were still fretful nights when she and Beorn had to face enemies on their watch, but they were few and more bearable now. She had grown stronger, both physically and emotionally, as she had to. But Rowan’s days were filled with nature, beauty, and animals; and that was enough to cast off the gloom of what they faced in the dark. She and Beorn deepened their friendship as she assimilated herself into his life and home. His quiet steadfastness soothed her anxieties and Rowan did her best to pull smiles out of him when she could, even if he did not understand half of the jokes she made. She regularly thanked every heavenly spirit above that she had found him as a friend in her journey here.  
    When Rowan did occasionally fall asleep at night rather than after dawn, Thranduil still visited her dreams. He continually pressed Rowan to tell him where she was and insisted she’d be better off under his watch. But after enough times of her rebuke and her forcing herself into waking up to get out of the argument, he’d softened his approach a bit. Sometimes, they just talked. Mostly of general things, like the changing season, or far off places and people of Middle Earth she had never seen. They both seemed to have an unspoken agreement to leave the subject of what happened when they touched off limits. It confused and scared her, and Rowan got the feeling it might be the same for him too. She wouldn’t call the two of them friends, she wasn’t sure what you would call strange person who visited your dreams and had some weird magic bond with you, but they had just a little more camaraderie between them now. That suited her fine, though she was not she she trusted the peace to last if they ever did meet on the earthly plane.  
  
    Rowan flopped down onto the ground and sighed, staring up at the azure sky. She wished the summer would last forever. Autumn would bring about her twenty-sixth birthday, and a full six months with no progress on getting home. Despite her unwavering faith in eventual her passage home, the thought still chaffed her. A whine rang in her right ear and a wet dog’s nose snuffled into it, making Rowan roll over and squeal in protest. The grey dog that had been her constant shadow at home decided to follow them out on their errand today. Rowan had given in and named her, Vasilissa, after her favorite fairy-tale maiden. It was fanciful, but the loyal dog accepted it all the same. Beorn hadn’t protested either, understanding the obvious affinity between the two. Vasilissa, or Lissa, was now happily licking her friend’s face as they tousled in the grass.       
    Eventually shrugging her canine companion off of her, Rowan straightened out her hunter green tunic over her grey leggings as she stood up. A couple months ago, she and Beorn had visited one of the woodsmen’s settlements far down the south edge of Mirkwood. He had generously traded several jars of honey and homemade medical ointments in exchange for some actual clothing for Rowan. It wasn’t much, just a pair of boots and a few shirts and pants that sort of fit, so she didn’t have to keep walking around barefoot in his ridiculously oversized shirts. To her chagrin, the hand-me-downs had previously belonged to a teenage boy.  
    Seeing humans for the first time in so long had been strange. It was nice, on one hand, to meet some of the everyday sort of human people that dwelt in Middle Earth. Being around humans that were actually her height reminded Rowan that she was not short, she just had the luck of finding unnaturally tall companions. It did highlight other differences, though. With no signs of aging, she looked far more like a strangely mature girl-child among them, save her utter lack of curves that was more reminiscent of the boy she’d gotten the clothing from. They hadn’t seemed to think she really belonged with them either, her obvious “otherness” setting her apart immediately. The people of the woods were not like her gaggle of hippies at home, sadly. Their lives on the edge of the dreary forest were fraught with danger, and they had no choice but to be serious and vigilant most of the time. Rowan wished there was more that could be done for them, but what could she do that a wizard and a skin-changer couldn’t?  
  
    Beorn suddenly loomed over her.  
      
    “I am finished, if you are through with your silliness.”  
      
    Rowan grinned up at him.  
      
    “Now, you know that will never be true.”  
  
    Beorn rumbled out a short laugh, before getting a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He bent down, deftly grabbing Rowan by the waist, then straightened up while swinging her over his head until she sat perched on his broad shoulders. She hadn’t done this since she was a young child and her father carried her about the same way. The ridiculousness of being a full grown adult sitting on the shoulders of a nearly nine foot tall man made her laugh all the more. Lissa barked and circled excitedly at his feet. Beorn turned and smoothly walked off towards home, pretending not to notice when Rowan pulled some additional flowers out of her bag to decorate the top of his head.  
      
    As the twilight was slipping into the full dark of night, Rowan paced the hall with agitation. Beorn had gone out by himself tonight, she was instead supposed to meet with Radagast to discuss any updates about the fall equinox coming up in two months. He had yet to show, however. This wasn’t entirely unusual, the old wizard really did keep a schedule of his own. But something in the air was unsettling her, she couldn’t seem to sit still. Lissa paced back and forth alongside her. Rowan paused to pet her soft grey head. The other dogs were piled up together, asleep by the hearth, oblivious anything unnatural going on. Rowan shook her head. Everything was fine, there was no reason to be worked up like this.  
    Suddenly, a noise rang out that assured her everything was decidedly _not_ fine.  
    All of the dogs woke at once and raised their heads, as a bellowing roar echoed across the plain, all the way to the house, as if carried by the wind. Rowan’s heart stopped and her blood ran cold. She knew that sound, it was Beorn. And he was in pain.  
    Immediately her heart sped up again and she burst into action, quickly pulling off her tunic and leggings and making for the door. She turned to the whining dogs as she opened it, giving them a silent command to _stay_.  
    Rowan all but slammed the gate behind her as she burst out into the open. Her legs were already pumping hard as her feet furiously hit the ground, and she opened herself up to her power. Panic fueled it, speeding the warm glow along her body. Throwing all her force of will into her magic, she forced herself to be bigger, stronger than any bear she’d ever been. The earth shuddered beneath her massive paws, huge as dinner plates and clawed as they slammed into the earth. Rowan rarely tried to use the trick with shapeshifting, as the effort quickly tired her out, but she knew if Beorn was in pain, something was terribly wrong. She ran with everything she had in her, kept going until the forest finally came into view. The she stopped in her tracks, skidding to a halt.  
    The trees were whispering.  
    Her stomach dropped. She could feel that strange presence in the air like the night she was brought here. How was this happening again, after all these months? Did this mean there was a way home again? Or was something even worse going to happen?  
    Then she heard Beorn roar again and Rowan forced herself to keep moving, skirting the edge of the woods. The thought of protecting her friend crowded out all else. She would not let something happen to him now, after everything he’d done for her. She thought of the blissful afternoon they had just spent picking wildflowers. She flew through the grass at a furious pace. And then she saw them.  
    Rowan slowed slightly, accessing the situation. She could just now make out their shapes. Four goblins— and what was _that_? A troll? Beorn had described them to her, but she had never seen one. It was huge and ghastly, and carried an equally enormous club of knotted wood. Beorn was backing away from his attackers, snarling, determined not to be surrounded. A gash in his side dripped red blood on the ground. There were at least twelve corpses piled on the ground around them. He had certainly been holding his own. What was such a large company doing out here? The troll made to swing at him and he ducked and lunged, biting into one of its legs before having to move out of the way of the rebounding swing of its weapon. Seeing the opportunity, one of the goblins made to throw a spear at him while he was distracted. Fortunately for her, they were all facing away from Rowan, towards their current target.  
    She sprinted forward and leapt, tackling the goblin that was about to strike. Rowan’s claws dug into its back as her weight forced it into the ground. She quickly bent down to grip its neck in her jaws, biting and snapping it instantly. Unfortunately, that had spent her element of surprise and the remaining goblins now turned to dispatch their new challenger. The troll stayed focused on Beorn, their two hulking bodies now locked in fierce combat as they lashed and dodged.    
    Three goblins. She could do this. Rowan snarled and snapped her teeth as she paced, staying just out of their reach, waiting for an opening. One of the monsters leapt into the air towards her, sword raised high, seeking to bring the cruel weapon down onto her neck. Rowan spun and whipped her great ursine body around, catching its leg in her teeth as its strike hit only air. Holding the limb in her unbreakable grip, she used her momentum to swing the body back around, knocking it straight into another goblin that charged forward. They both hit the ground with a sickening thud. She didn’t have time to dispatch them properly as the remaining creature shrieked and slashed the air where her head had been moments before.  
    The blood was singing in her ears again. She didn’t fear it this time. Her instincts had kept her safe every battle before and she needed everything she had right now. She dodged its arm again, bringing down an enormous paw to rake down its chest with her razor claws. Black blood immediately spurted out in their wake. The goblin screamed again, stumbling back. Rowan took her opportunity and sprung after it, closing her jaws around its neck in one fell swoop. It didn’t stand a chance once it was in their terrible grasp. A wet crunch and it was still. Rowan dropped it from her mouth, turning to go back to assist Beorn. The troll was bleeding heavily now, but so was he, having taken out so many monsters on his own already.  
    A noise to her left made her swing her attention back. The goblin she had previously knocked into the ground with its own comrade was now struggling to its feet, hissing at her in some horrible language she could not comprehend. It turned and darted away, sprinting into the forest behind them with surprising speed. Her heart pumped faster and her blood soared. _Prey_. She would not let it escape her. She roared and charged after it, not caring where it ran to. She would strike it down, she would kill the foul thing. _Blood, blood, blood_.  
    Rowan broke into the forest, vines and branches whipping her as she hurtled after the goblin. But it was so, so dark and the forest was whispering all around her, louder than ever. The fervent chanting became stronger than the singing of her blood in her ears, she shook her head trying to ignore it as her four feet thundered through the underbrush and darted in between the trunks of trees. It was some time before she realized the goblin was no longer in her sight, and the forest was eerie and still all around her.  
    She came to a stop, breathing heavily. No light penetrated the canopy about her. The stale odor was free of any traces of the goblin’s blood, save what clung to her. The hushed chorus of voices echoed all around, words indistinguishable but they sounded…excited? There was a feeling of anticipation in the air. Her hide tingled with static. Rowan shook her black furred head in frustration. Looking up, she realized she had absolutely no idea where she was, and no light or sky to orient her. She should have known better than to enter the forest again, but then again she hadn’t exactly been thinking at the time. The goblin seemed long gone now. Nothing moved that her ears and eyes could determine, except for that damnable whispering. Rowan pulled herself out of her transformation and stood up on her own two feet.  
  
    “What do you want from me now?!” She demanded at the empty air.  
      
    There was no answer, just the constant hum of voices.  
      
    “…Can you take me home?…Please?”  
  
    They remained unaffected by her plea. Rowan’s skin pricked with the electric feeling of magic around her.  
      
    She walked aimlessly for a while, unable to determine this time where the way out might be. It was just shadows and twisted trees as far as her eyes could see. The air had no hint of freshness in any direction, there was nothing to orient her. Rowan wondered if it was the dark enchantment of the woods trapping her in. Eventually, she decided climbing a tree and trying to get above the canopy was her best and only option. She could fly back to Beorn’s home as a hawk if that was necessary. She was _not_ going to stay here with the creepy forest and mysterious magical forces for longer than she needed to.  
    Halfway up the trunk of a towering pine tree, Rowan stopped to give herself a break to catch her breath. She hadn’t completely transformed, just taken on certain advantages such as catlike claws, eyes, and hearing. She rather cursed the fact her hearing also included those spectral voices, but she desperately needed to remain aware of any creatures lurking about, as she didn’t have Beorn to protect her now. She hoped he was alright, wherever he was— hopefully and back at his home waiting for her. His loving animal menagerie was waiting for them both to return and she would not like them to be disappointed. The troll had dealt him serious damage, but he had walked away from worse. The bear man was indomitable in spirit and body. She held steadfast faith in him.  
    As she was gazing down at the forest floor absently, Rowan saw them. Not monsters, but _Elves_. Four of them. Two males and two females. Rowan recognized them immediately by their resemblance to Thranduil, though their hair was various shades of rich brown instead of nearly silver. These ones were not quite so tall or so fair as him either, but they were graceful and elegant as they passed beneath the trees. Their skin had that same luminous quality, again being a bit less bright than her dreamworld companion, but they still had a subtle glow about them.  They were all similarly dressed in dark green cloting with brown leather armor, and carried bows and swords as weapons.  
    Rowan sat frozen, pressing herself against the trunk of the tree. She scarcely dared to breath. Would they attack her on sight, thinking she was another evil creature like the goblins? She didn’t have much time to think about that frightening possibility, as her ears suddenly picked up on a particularly insect-like clicking noise. The elves must have heard it too, as they all simultaneously halted and looked around, stances defensive. Rowan’s eyes darted around wildly. There— three trees to her left, she saw one crawling— a terrifyingly, impossibly huge spider. It scurried down the trunk of the tree vertically, two others descending with it from above. With horrible, high pitched screeches, they leapt from the tree branches, directly onto the elves below, aiming for them with their fangs and stingers. Quick as lightening, the elves reacted. Within seconds one spider was felled with an arrow through its many-eyed head, another with a throwing dagger in its thorax, the third had half its limbs hacked clean off and was left twitching on the ground. Rowan was awed by the elves’ deadly precision. Beorn and her had slain monsters many times together, but with brute force and animal savagery. These ethereal woodland hunters made up for their lack of physical brutality with surgical accuracy and speed.  
    But as soon as the three arachnids were brought down, more furious clicking noises followed. Suddenly, the colossal spiders were everywhere, pouring down from above. The elven warriors spun and slashed in a mesmerizing dance, insect limbs and blue blood flying all around them. But there were so many of them, there seemed no end to their skittering masses as they dropped from the trees. A nest must have been nearby. Rowan’s heart twisted with indecision. She could continue to scurry up her blessedly insect-free perch, break the canopy and fly away in the body of a bird…yet it seemed wrong to leave these beautiful people to the fate of their battle with the countless spiders. They were trying to hold back the creeping scourge of evil as much as Beorn and Radagast. The trees whispered around her excitedly. Her decision was made for her when, directly below, one of the warriors was abruptly pieced by a spider’s stinger, falling to the ground with a strangled cry as the poison paralyzed him. The spider reared, ready to run him through with a leg as sharp as a knife. His companions were too engaged in their own struggle to aid him.  
    Rowan cursed her sense of morality.  
    Leaping from the tree, she let herself fall and twist midair, pulling her brightly shining power around herself like a shroud. She landed fully on the spider’s back in the thousand pound body of a milky white Siberian tiger, pulling it backwards with her as she tumbled to the ground with it, fur and carapace blurred together. The spider gnashed its two curved fangs, desperately trying her catch her in their grip.  Rowan racked her huge claws on whatever body part she could find purchase. Eyes and legs and wiry haired abdomen gushed blue blood in their wake.  Eventually the two fell into a heap, the spider twitching and then moving no more. She pulled herself up from its shell-like carcass, glancing to where the otherwise paralyzed elf eyed her in surprise.  
    The other three elves were shouting something in that familiar but strange language, and she could not understand them. Another spider was closing in on his prone body. She leapt over him, striking the attacker directly in the chest to knock it on its back, eight limbs thrashing violently as it tried to right itself. Rowan closed her mouth around a forelimb and pulled, breaking it off and tossing it aside. The spider shrieked as blood poured forth. Legs scraped and bit at her back as they tried to make contact and pull her from the prone arachnid’s torso. She raked her claws down, over and over, until the limbs stilled. Before she could catch her breath, two forelimbs caught her and dragged Rowan back against the forest floor. A beetle-black monster loomed over her, stabbing down into the earth with its sharpened limbs, trying to skewer her to the ground. She twisted and flipped but could not seem to escape the cage of the spider’s legs. She felt one of them make contact, slicing easily through the flesh of her back leg until it made shattering contact with bone, the sickening crunch echoing through her whole body as she roared in pain. She felt her transformation slipping away as the radiating shock of unbelievable agony coursed through her.  
    The voices in the trees were screaming. Her skin burned with the volts of their magic current.  
    Another spider had begun dragging away the prone elf she’d tried to save. The spider above her snapped its fangs over her pinned body, nearly severing her throat.  
    The rising wave of the voices crashed around them. Their power surged through her, until she thought she might be burned from the inside before the spider could strike again. Her head swam, desperate to find outlet for this suffocating magic. What did they want from her, now that she was about to die underneath a disgustingly oversized insect?  
    Rowan opened her mouth and the words burned like acid and fire as they burst from her.  
      
    “s- _save… **SAVE US**!”_  
      
    The power poured in and out of her body, passing through like a strike of lightning. It shot into the ground and dispersed into the endless web of tree roots, lighting them up in a glowing web of magic. She could feel the triumphant _glee_ of the forest immediately as it responded to her command. A tree root shot up immediately to wrap around the spider standing over her, pulling it back to snap the body in its grasp. A branch whipped by and knocked the attacker away from the paralyzed elf. All around her she could hear the furious cries of the trees as they crushed the bodies of spiders with root, branch, and vine. The twisted silhouettes of the trees were now alive in a writhing mass. Arachnid shrieking filled the air until it was all silent, save for the warm touch of voices in her mind.  
    The three standing Elven warriors turned to look at her, weapons dangling uselessly at their sides as they stared at Rowan, and then looked down at the ground around her with a mixture of amazement and horror.  
    Rowan followed their eyes. All around her bruised and bloodied body, radiating outwards in a circle, the ground was covered in the delicate white blooms of tiny star-shaped flowers.  
  
    The trees sighed.  
  
    “ _We are complete_.”  
  
      
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no Thranduil this time but next chapter he'll feature in a big way, I'm sure you all can guess c;
> 
> I meant to post this sooner but I was in the hospital for two days. Feeling better now and right back to it!
> 
> Title is from the song by Explosions In The Sky.


	7. Inside Of You, In Spite Of You

_The rain to the wind said,_  
_'You push and I'll pelt.'_  
_They so smote the garden bed_  
_That the flowers actually knelt,_  
_And lay lodged - though not dead._  
_I know how the flowers felt._

  
**Chapter Seven**

  
  
    “Niphredil…”  
      
    One of the female elves murmured in a musical voice as she bent down reverently pick a miniature white flower.

    She held it between two slim fingers in a delicate grip as she brought it closer to her face for inspection, seemingly unsure if it was real. Her fathomless brown eyes shimmered in the low light, inspecting every detail of it. She was really very pretty, Rowan considered. Pale, ageless, and almost unsettling in how smoothly formed her features were. Her richly colored chestnut hair was rather long and pulled over one shoulder. The other elves, regardless of gender, looked much the same. Almond-shaped eyes that were brown or grey, shades of dark hair, pointed ears, high cheekbones, slim noses. Their bodies were all muscular yet quite svelte and tall, the two women only slightly shorter than the men and not noticeably voluptuous. Currently, the other warriors were tending to their paralyzed friend with some concoction they’d pulled out of a leather bag. The woman with the flower seemed to notice Rowan’s staring and reached a hand out towards her. Rowan shrank back.  
      
    “ _Av-'osto._ ” The elf maiden whispered softly, as if she were trying to coax a frightened cat. She held up the flower. “Man agorel?”  
      
    Rowan shook her head. She still didn’t like this language, beautiful as it was. It poured off the tongue like a mountain stream over smooth rocks. It was just as enchanting to hear it from them as it was when Thranduil first spoke to her, and it was just as disorienting. Something deep in her subconscious stirred when they spoke it. That feeling itched at her and begged to be scratched. She knew it must have been the tongue she spoke in when her parents had first found her. Rowan did not want to go down that particular rabbit hole yet.  
      
    “I-I’m sorry, I don’t speak…whatever it is you call it…” Rowan mumbled.  
      
    “You speak the common tongue then?” The elf asked, switching to accented English.  
      
    Rowan nodded, thanking the gods for whatever magic allowed that similarity between their worlds.  
      
    “Tell me, how is it then that a skin-changer can speak to the trees?”  
      
    As if she could get them to shut up when they decided they wanted to step in and mess with her life! Though, they were fairly quiet now, nothing more than a low chorus of humming. It seemed more like they spoke to her when in the mood, rather than she had much power to converse with them.  
      
    The uninjured male elf approached them before Rowan could formulate an answer. His posture was casual but proud and he walked smoothly with steps that were nearly noiseless. The clothes he wore were quite similar to the woman’s, to all the other elves really, it seemed like a kind of medieval military uniform. His hair was straight and shining and nearly black, just as long as the woman’s, and worn braided at the sides. He looked down at Rowan with surprisingly gentle gray eyes that sparkled with every reflection they caught. She must have made quite a sad spectacle at the moment— confused, injured, and naked, sitting on a bed of pale flowers. She _felt_ even worse, but if looking like something the house-cat had left half-dead on the doorstep meant these elves wouldn’t see her as a threat, she would accept that.  
  
    “I have not seen these the niphredil grow here for thousands of years. In this age, they only bloom in Lorien…” His voice was a few octaves deeper but just at melodic as the brown haired woman who crouched beside him. Rowan was extremely confused. Did he just say he was _thousands_ of years old? Did all Elves live that long? How old was Thranduil?  
    His voice interrupted her thoughts again.  
      
    “What is your name, skin-walker who speaks to the forest?”  
      
    “Ah…Rowan.”  
      
    He looked puzzled but seemed to accept this answer as he unclasped his forest green cloak from his shoulders and slowly knelt down level with her.  
      
    “That is a very odd name for a young woman, and not a tree.”  
      
    He leaned over her and tossed the cloak behind her head to rest it across her shoulders. The material was heavy but surprisingly soft for looking like it was made of wool. Pulling the edges closed at the front with an efficient tug, he gave her a reassuring smile before leaning back on his heels to regard her face.  
      
    “It’s what my parents gave me… though knowing them, I’m surprised it’s not Moonlight or something.” Rowan replied honestly.  
      
    The male elf looked confused.  
  
    “Isilme? That would have been a very pretty name.”  
      
    Rowan strongly fought the urge to roll her eyes. It would figure that she had lost her hippies only to stumble into some new ones.  
      
    “What are your names? I don’t know what’s…normal for Elves.”  
      
    Her inquisitive friend looked pleased. “Mine is Uiron. It means ‘eternity’.”  
      
    “That’s…nice?” Rowan offered. Maybe that answered her question about Elves and immortality. The thought was pretty hard to swallow. She pushed it from her mind, then indicated towards the others with her head. “And your friends?”  
      
    “This _elleth_ is Huoriel.”  
      
    Huoriel, the chestnut haired elf who had first approached her, nodded her head politely. Rowan smiled timidly back.  
      
    “She is Falathiel” Uiron gestured towards the female elf— _elleth_? a few feet away attending to the injured male elf, who was looking markedly better by the minute. “And the lucky _ellon_ you rescued is called Veryan.”  
      
    It just figured they would have names as romantic and ethereal as they were. Huoriel extended a hand towards her again, clearly meaning to examine her leg, and Rowan grimaced but stayed still. The wound was severe, she already knew that. Her red blood was steadily dripping onto the white flowers below, from the ragged and torn flesh that spanned half her lower leg. She knew from the initial impact that at least one of the bones of her leg had broken. Experience told her that meant she couldn’t shape-shift successfully until it healed, which might be some time. Every attempt to change form would only reset the healing process. Internally, Rowan cursed the mysterious trees, the hideous spiders, and the pretty elves alike for having gotten her involved in this mess that was still wildly spinning out of control. It was childish, but at the moment, it made her pain a bit more bearable.  
    Huoriel’s slender fingers gently skimmed around Rowan’s leg, inspecting the wound. There was the slightest tingle when her deft fingertips touched Rowan’s skin, the now recognizable sensation of magic. It would make sense that all Elves were innately indued with a some amount of it. That would explain the glowing, anyway. There was obviously no arrow or bullet to remove, but there was some debris from the forest that needed to be removed before the bone could be set and the skin could be stitched. The she-elf mumbled under her breath to herself as she considered the best course of action. It was a rather... human habit, and therefore sort of endearing, but her indecision was worrying. Rowan shivered, and tried to tell herself it was the lack of sunlight.  
    While Huoriel considered, Veryan seemed to have recovered enough to walk over, albeit leaning heavily on Falathiel. His hair was lighter than Uiron’s, more dark chocolate than ebony, and it was cut to just past his shoulders. He wore the two braids that seemed most customary, but one of his had a tiny glass bead in it. His eyes were a warm multi-faceted amber. He sat down next to Uiron and Huoriel, with Falathiel remained standing, looking off into the trees warily. She did, however, give Rowan an acknowledging nod first as she helped her friend to the forest floor. Elves seemed nothing if not polite.  
    Falathiel’s hair was the only shade so far that Rowan could consider true black, as it shimmered with blue undertone in the weak light of the forest. There were three braids in her hair, one along her center part and two running back from her temples. Her eyes were sharp and dark as a hawk’s. Though it would be impossible to call any of these Elves old-looking, Falathiel did have something about her that _felt_ to Rowan like she was much more senior in years to the others. Maybe it was that her skin was even paler and smoother, her features more like they were literally hewn from the finest white marble. She certainly commanded the silent respect of the others.  
      
    “Though I do not understand by what power, I do know that I have you to thank for having survived this day, my lady.” Said Veryan quite formally, attempted a lopsided bow from his position on the ground.  
  
    Rowan tried not to giggle.  
      
    “I don’t like spiders much, I didn’t want to see them hurt anyone.” She replied.  
      
    Veryan gave her a half grin.  
      
    “No my lady, I cannot say I like them either.”  
      
    “We must bind Rowan’s leg and return immediately. She will continue to bleed out, and it is not safe to linger in the open like this.” Falathiel interrupted, tone brooking no argument.  
      
    The other three nodded. Rowan personally agreed with the binding her wound part, bleeding out on the forest floor didn’t sound appealing at all, but return _where_? She wanted to go back to Beorn’s house. Not to wherever the Elves were from.  
      
    “Can you take me home? By the river, near the Carrock, there’s a house. I live there with Beorn.”  
      
    Falathiel cut her off.  
  
    “We know of the other skin-changer. But we do not leave the boundary of the forest, unless it is an explicit command.”  
      
    Rowan’s heart sank.  
      
    “Then….can you just take me to the edge, as far as you can? I’ll find my way from there. I just want to go back now.”  
      
    It was silent for a moment, tension in the air between the four elves and the flustered shapeshifter. She could have sworn the elves had some silent conversation between themselves because after an eerie moment, there was a collective sigh and they all looked to her.  
      
    “We will do what we can, but we will not leave you to your death.” Said Falathiel with finality.  
      
    The decision having been made, everyone set about taking their places. Huoriel unclasped her own cloak and laid it out on the ground in front of her. She then unstrapped her leather belt pouch, and withdrew a small bundle of herbs, and a needle and thread. Finally, she tore strips of cloth from her own tunic and soaked a few with liquid from her waterskin. Rowan shuddered. This battlefield surgery was actually going to happen. No anesthesia, no antibiotics— just elves and some makeshift supplies in a creepy talking forest. Her heart started racing. She gulped, throat suddenly dry. Huoriel looked up at her and smiled apologetically as she slowly moved Rowan’s leg on top of the cloak that was now a makeshift operating theater. Rowan tried not to cry out, knowing that was just a breath of the pain she was about to feel.  
    Veryan and Uiron shifted to Rowan’s sides. Rowan wasn’t entirely certain whether it was to reassure her, or hold her down. She tried to think of it as the former, and smiled bravely up at their handsome, ageless faces. Veryan smoothed her red hair with a slender hand, a very graceful and practiced gesture, not like Beorn’s awkward half-thumps. Yet Rowan found she would trade anything to have her unrefined bear man here right now instead of these polite but unfamiliar elves. Uiron looked down at her and squeezed her shoulder. Rowan looked back up at him, confused, and then she felt the shock as Huoriel poured cold water into her wound and a bright-white flash of plain flooded her eyes, and she let out a strangled gasp, trying to twist away.  
      
    “You have to be strong now, little one.” Veryan advised kindly from above her, moving to place her head on his bundled cloak so that she might be more comfortable, and grasped her other shoulder so that she was firmly affxed to the ground. “Falathiel cured me of the spider’s poison and I kept most of my toes.” He winked.  
  
      
    Rowan tried not to cry. She may have gotten stronger, objectively speaking, but she wasn’t this strong! She had never been hurt so badly before. Rowan might have thought she was tough before— she’d been cut up, she’d been bruised, she’d broken a couple bones falling out of trees. But she had never truly gotten herself mangled like this in all her life. All the battles of the past few months put together hadn’t prepared her for setting broken bones and an stitching an open wound with no anesthesia.  
    Huoriel grasped the top of Rowan’s calf below the knee, and then the bottom by her ankle and _twisted_. Rowan let out a shriek unlike any sound she had ever made before. Pure, undiluted, red-hot agony coursed through her body. She was sobbing and begging mindlessly, asking the Elves to let her go. The trees overhead were shivering angrily. The roots below her started to twist.  
      
    Uiron was leaning over towards her ear.  
  
    “Your tree brethren are becoming upset for you, Rowan. You must tell them to stop. We are only trying to heal your wound.”  
  
    She felt his and Veryan’s sure fingers gripping her shoulders, anchoring her there. Rowan tried to clear her head of the fog and focus on that sensation, instead of the pain. These elves were just helping, just trying to heal her. They could be heading home right now and have left her for dead, but they stayed to aid the odd cat-turned-girl who had helped them. They were good. The terrible shuddering around them began to subside. Uiron kept talking, trying to distract her.  
  
     “I think I shall give you an elvish name, my dear, yes…. let me think…Ah! I will call you Lithoniel— ‘the ash tree’…”  
  
    Rowan would have smiled if she hadn’t just then felt the bite of Huoriel’s needle in her skin as she started to sew up the wound. She looked up at Uiron with tears streaming from her gray eyes.  
      
    “T-Thank you, but you are just calling me another word for a tree….”  
      
    She didn’t hear his reply, as the needle pieced her skin again and she forgot everything else and became lost in an endless loop of pain and brief respite. All the while, her new companions sat patiently, usually softly singing heartbreakingly lovely songs. Even Falathiel, still keeping watch, joined in from where she stood at her post. It would have been nice under different circumstances, all Elves apparently put human vocalists to shame. After what felt like an eternity, Huoriel stopped stitching and pressed a paste of herbs to Rowan’s jagged but neatly-stitched wound. The she-elf began to chant quietly under her breath. Rowan would have been skeptical but she swore she could _feel_ the skin starting ever-so-slowly pull itself together as the elf woman sang. Her mother would love to know about this— plants, singing, and new age healing were right up her alley. The dark trees swayed overhead. They didn’t seem quite so awful now, as Rowan felt their tingling magic voices try to reach for her. She was too far gone into her own mind to listen now. The tiny white flowers ticked her cheek as her head slumped to the side and exhaustion hit her like a wall.  
  
  
    The pillow felt soft against the side of her face as Rowan shifted with the first stirrings of consciousness. She groaned and tried to open her eyes, but for a moment they could only flutter uselessly. The sensation was like uncomfortably like sandpaper. Finally managing to pry them open, Rowan could see that she was in a very lovely and completely unfamiliar bed. The sheets were a mint green satin, underneath a seafoam-colored dupioni silk comforter embroidered in gold thread with symmetrical patterns of stitched leaves. The bed frame was carved from pale wood, posts reaching upwards until they forked into the shapes of branches, imitating four white winter trees. Gauzy drapes hung loosely between them. The headboard depicted a scene of a maiden and a deer running through a forest, with a great big crescent moon crowning the carving from above.  
    It all had a very…Elvish sensibility to it, from what she’d gathered based on the elegant stitching she’d seen decorating her new friends’ uniforms and the delicate embossing on their leather accessories. Rowan sat bolt upright as her heart hammered against her ribcage. No, she was _not_ anywhere near Beorn’s cozy homestead. Unfortunately this sudden movement had the ill effect of setting off a wave of vertigo, as Rowan was wildly trying to disentangle herself from the blankets. Disentangle herself she did, but rather than perch on the side of the bed, she fell straight off of it, letting out a loud shriek when her injured leg hit the stone floor.  
    Rowan looked down her body, which had apparently been clothed in a nightdress, towards the source of her suffering. Her mangled leg was bandaged much more professionally now, wrapped with white linen bandages and stiff wooden brackets were inserted on either side. Her foot and calf that she could see were speckled with truly vibrant bruises in shades of purple and red. Rowan sighed and let her head roll back on the stone floor. Someone had been nice enough to clean and brush out her hip-length hair, which now cushioned her head.  
    The bedroom she was in was truly unlike any other she’d ever seen, to say the least. It was obviously in some sort of cavern, as the room itself had been carved from solid gray rock and no window was present. The walls were smooth and polished, the stone cut away in reliefs of fascinating knotwork designs. They met the ceiling in a series of gothic arches, the raw material of the roof left in a more natural state except for a circle in the center where a design had been carved, and a lamp hung down. The glass paneled bauble was seemingly lit by some inexhaustible light source within, as clearly there was no electricity, and no candle flickered in there either. Two heavily ornamented doorways were cut into opposing walls, the doors themselves warm brown in color and carved with trees and animals. There wasn’t much furniture, but what there was had the same light-colored wood of the bed. Rowan could see a wide clothing armoire, a writing desk, a chair, and several shelves. They were all quite feminine and lovely, but cold with disuse, and Rowan missed Beorn’s warm and roughly hewn furnishings all the more.  
    One of the doors clicked and softly swung open, revealing the face of a very concerned looking she-elf. Rowan’s heart sunk a little farther. She’d hoped it at least could have been one of the Elves she knew, who were due for an earful about why she was not at the edge of the forest right now. The woman entered the room with calculated slowness as Rowan eyed her warily. She was beautiful, tall, and lithe— of course. But she looked a bit different from the warriors. Her nose had a slight, gentle curve at the tip instead of being sharp and straight. Her ears were a bit wider too, just as pointed but not so sharp and jutting. Light ash-brown hair was in soft waves down her back, the top pulled up into a circlet of braids and the rest left to hang. Dark blue eyes were set against creamy skin and regarded Rowan with a pleasant expression. She wore a long burgundy high-collared tunic with a slit at the front and back, and tan leggings underneath with dark brown boots. It was almost like she was a slightly different species of elf— though if that were true, if there were different species…what was Thranduil? The Queen Bee?  
      
    “You should be in bed.” ‘Blue-eyes’ chided in a predictably melodious voice.  
      
    “Why am I here?” Rowan retorted, being petulant.  
      
    “You were brought here after you were injured battling the spiders.”  
      
    “I wanted to go back outside Mirkwood. If they couldn’t take me they should have left me!” Rowan insisted, as she was feeling quite put-out.  
    Arguing with a beautiful elf while lying helplessly on her back on a cold floor was not helping. She was also far too riled up to ask for assistance, however. Her skin was beginning to prickle uncomfortably— did the trees want something again?  
      
    “Though the guard are grateful for your actions, the King’s orders are that trespassers into Mirkwood are to be brought to him first.”  
      
    “Kidnapping is not a good way to thank people!” Rowan argued, urging herself to finally sit up then, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness. She rubbed her bare arms, the tingling was getting stronger. “I want to go home _now_.”  
  
    Blue-eyes sighed.  
      
    “His Majesty Thranduil will be here soon enough, he will tell you if that is possible.”  
      
     _Don’t scream_ , Rowan told herself as her heart sputtered. _Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream_.  
      
    Instead, what could be called a colorful collection of multi-cultural curse-words started spilling from her mouth, as she inelegantly dragged herself towards the wall, trying to find support so she could get up and run…somewhere. She was doing a lovely imitation of a drunkard trying to get back onto a barstool. Blue-eyes was fluttering around in rising panic, not sure what to do with a ward that had suddenly become absolutely inconsolable and refused to let her anywhere near her. Seeing that Rowan was about to drop back onto the ground from the three feet she’d managed to pull herself up, the much put-upon Elf darted in and grabbed Rowan’s forearms, and lowered her back to the floor.  
      
    “I have to leave, I _have_ to leave now…” Rowan whispered imploringly. She wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or throw up. Her leg was throbbing in unrelenting agony, her head was swimming. She couldn’t shape-shift, she didn’t know where she was except that _he_ was here. It was just too much. She wanted Beorn and Lissa, or her parents, not the bossy dream elf who was apparently a _King_. The magic static on her skin was burning now. The last four months had been some semblance of peace in this strange world. Why did things always have to go from bad to worse?  
      
    A deep voice carried over from the doorway.  
  
    “I do not think that wise.”  
  
    Thranduil was standing under the arched doorway, in all his celestial state, now rendered in the flesh. His dead-straight silver hair had a touch more yellow to it, seeing it now in the real world, but it still looked like moonlight spilling over his shoulders and running down his back. The great crown of twisted branches had been replaced this time by a knotwork circlet with a clear gem in the center. He wore a wine velvet coat that glided on the floor behind him, the fabric embroidered with gold darts to look like feathers. Underneath was a light colored long robe and pants tucked into silver-grey riding boots. The combination of colors looked like blood on snow.  
      
    Rowan did scream then.  
      
    Elves have quite sensitive hearing, she found out immediately thereafter, as both visibly cringed and gritted their teeth at her sudden shriek of surprise. Blue-eyes stepped away from Rowan and stood at attention, waiting for a command from her ruler. Not even glancing in her direction, Thranduil waved her out of the room with just a slight gesture of his hand, the casual ease of a person clearly used to giving orders. She half-bowed and quickly spun on her heel to exit the room. Finally alone, his icy facade melted just a bit to give way to his triumph as he began to advance on Rowan with quick steps of his long legs. She had gathered her senses enough at that point to start furiously scooting away along the wall until her back connected with the bed. The towering elf gracefully lowered himself onto one knee, reaching towards her.  
      
    “Little stranger, be still. You will harm yourself further.”  
  
    His voice held even more of that hypnotic power, here in the physical dimension. He was not nearly so literally huge as Beorn and yet, even kneeling, he seemed to take up the whole room with his presence. Rowan dodged his hand. She felt the electricity of magic desperately trying to arch between the two of them and finalize whatever connection had begun to form there. Her skin shivered with goosebumps.  
      
    “ _Ego_! Leithio nin!” She cried out.  
      
    Thranduil drew back a few inches, surprise written all over his handsome face.  
      
    “You told me that you do not speak Elvish.”  
      
    “I don’t!”  
      
    “My ears just heard otherwise.”  
      
    Rowan knew she’d just spoken Elvish _technically_ , but it was all beautiful gibberish to her. She still didn’t speak the language fluently, it just slipped out in a panic from somewhere in the back of her mind. Certainly somewhere in the shadowy memories of her early youth she recalled a few phrases. And besides, being a literally cornered animal, she was not in the mood to cooperate. His demeanor was unnervingly calm, controlled. They were in his kingdom now, not the shared territory of their dreamworld. The possessive glint was back in his eye. Rowan’s hackles raised. He hadn’t won _yet_.  
    When her royal kidnapper made another attempt to pick her up again, she kicked at him ineffectually with her uninjured leg and hissed, baring sharp teeth. This display did not scare away the threat, only earned her an annoyed sigh as Thranduil shifted slightly, aiming to grab her under the arms instead, and she shoved at his broad chest with her hands. Rowan realized the grave error on her part only a second too late, as her hand slid against the silken fabric of his robe and her naked palm went flush against the smooth expanse of his bare collarbone.  
  
    It was like touching a live wire as the bridge jumped between them. Volts shot through her arm and into her body, every muscle seizing. It seemed as though all her cells were alive with the burning spark of magic.  Stars burst in front of her eyes. White fireworks danced in her vision. Then her mind was soaring. Over Mirkwood forest she raced, as an incorporeal being of pure light. The sun shone down on the top of the bright green canopy and breathtaking blue butterflies flitted about. Then she was diving down, down into the leaves, following the trunk of a tree until she was racing along the debris covered ground. She could the whispering everywhere in the trees, the buzz of thousands of voices joined together. Rowan realized what it was— the soul of the forest. All the trees speaking together in a great hive of voices. Joy filled her. She couldn’t understand yet, but she wanted to, she wanted to speak to the spirit of the forest. She noticed then that Thranduil was next to her, a blinding ray of white light by Rowan’s side. She felt the magic current sweep them together, literally weaving the net around them, their souls hopelessly ensnared. The forest rejoiced. The bond filled up every gap in the links between them. The tree voices bubbled over in excitement. The connection was intangible but unbreakable, binding their essence so tight that they might never pull themselves apart again.  
  
    When Rowan became aware of her physical body again, she seemed to still be on the floor, but engulfed in the arms of Elvenking. His chin was pressed to the crown of her head and he breathed deeply through his nose to steady himself. His silver hair was spilling into hers, like metal and rust. Her mind was spinning faster than before, and the world looked dangerously off kilter. Did she just hallucinate or had that really just happened to both of them, like the shared dreams? She briefly wondered again if she was going to be sick. The subtle static tingling at every point of contact between them told her it was all horribly real.  
      
    “ _Riressil_ , our _fëar_ …” Thranduil’s voice was soft, reverent. “I can feel your light intertwined with mine.”  
      
    “ _Why_?” Rowan managed to gasp out, fairly certain she was losing her mind.  
      
    Thranduil absently ran a hand down her spine, considering the question.  
      
    “We are both connected to the soul of the forest. It chose to bind us together. I do not yet know why.”  
      
    Her hands pushed at the immovable wall of Elf holding her in. She let out a soft whine as she tried to shift her legs from their awkward position beside his knee, and her injured leg scraped the stone floor. That action seemed to be reminder enough to wake Thranduil from his daze. He quickly placed an arm under Rowan’s thighs, lifting her thin body smoothly despite her continued struggles. Though in her disoriented state she was not putting up much of a fight, it was as if he didn’t even notice, fluidly rising and turning to set her on the bed. Rowan tried to shimmy away to the other side as soon as he released her, but Thranduil simply caught her by the waist, one large hand grasping the side of her narrow hip to hold her in place.  
      
    “Lay still so that I may examine you injury.” He loomed over her.  
      
    “F-fine…” Rowan didn’t want to be helpful but she also needed him to release her. She felt the bond prickling her skin where his fingers pressed into the flesh of her abdomen. The sensation was quite disarming and she wanted it to stop.  
      
    Thranduil withdrew his iron hold and moved away from her slightly, pulling the hem of her white cotton nightgown up just enough to see the bandaged area of her lower leg.  Somehow that, of all things, struck Rowan as terribly funny. He’d seen her literally naked and covered in blood, and now he was being careful not to expose her bare knees? Elves were very strange creatures indeed. With surprising delicacy, he turned her calf slightly. Pink and red stains were beginning to bloom where the stitches lay beneath the white linen bandages. Rowan cursed miserably to herself.  
      
    “I will return with a healer. Do your best not to end up on the floor again before I return.” With that unexpected quip, Thranduil turned and was gone, elegant robes fluttering behind him.  
      
    Rowan huffed and looked up through the gauzy canopy of the bed at the beautiful pattern carved in the ceiling, and pulled a face at it. Yesterday had started off so well. Now here she was, injured and re-injured and even more complicatedly stuck together with the man she’d been avoiding for months. Even worse, her great built-in-fail-safe power had hit a bump in the road. Rowan huffed again. It felt like only a few seconds had passed when the door yet again revealed a new elven face, this one belonging to another woman. She looked like the same species as Blue Eyes— a little more fair, a bit less wild. Two braids hung down over her shoulders, the color of maple syrup. Her eyes were a pleasant medium brown. She was wearing a long light green dress, a white chemise underneath peeking out at the neckline and where the sleeves and bodice laced up at the sides. A tidy white apron covered her front. Rowen could see a book, several bottles, a roll of bandages, a few bundles of herbs, and several other curio tucked into the wide row of pockets.  
      
    The elf lady nodded her head towards Rowan politely.  
      
    “My name is Raeveth. A star shines in the hour of our meeting.”  
      
    Rowan thought that was an awfully poetic way to say hello, as she weakly smiled back at Raeveth. Another thing about Elves her flower child family would love. The she-elf hesitantly made her way over to the bed, her moves exaggerated and careful so that Rowan could see exactly what she was doing. Did Thranduil tell the healer there was a rabid possum in here instead of a wounded girl? Said king had silently trailed in behind, rigidly standing on the other side of the bed, not talking or moving to interfere, but his sharp, pale eyes took in every moment both Rowan and Raeveth made. The healer had laid out a cloth under Rowan’s leg and was now beginning to cut away at the ruined bandages layer by layer. She didn’t talk to herself the way that Huoriel did and Rowan found she rather missed the chatter. Once the cloth strips had been removed, she could see that the stitches were oozing bright red blood, big fat ruby droplets welling up from the wound that they held together. Raeveth took out a bottle and wet a rag, dabbing gently at the mess. Rowan hissed through her teeth when it stung. Thranduil’s hand twitched, like he meant to reach out, but he resisted the urge. Raeveth continued down the stitches, doing her best to clean up what blood had already spilled while Rowan’s uncontrollable twitching brought forth new fluid. The healer sighed.  
      
    “I think I must use another potion to stem the blood flow. It will not be pleasant, especially for one not of elvish blood.”  
  
    Rowan shuddered. _Nothing_ about this day had been pleasant.  
      
    Raeveth withdrew a different bottle this time and when she touched the wetted cloth to Rowan’s skin, it burned quite fiercely. Rowan tried her best not to move, however. Being difficult would accomplish nothing. She needed to heal, she needed to be able to shape-shift again so she could get back to Beorn. Fat, hot tears welled up in her gray eyes as the stinging continued. It wasn’t even that she couldn’t take the pain, she just hated this…this feeling of powerlessness. The tears trembled precariously and then one slipped, running down her face, leaving a wet trail before landing with a _plop_ on the green-blue bedcover. Rowan had spent nearly her whole life being more powerful than everyone around her. She was faster, stronger, more resilient than humans. Her shapeshifting gave her unique advantages to confront or escape danger. She had…liked being able to bask in her ability, not worrying about what might happen in consequence. Now everything had changed. She was surrounded by skilled warriors more deadly than humans who obeyed a leader with a strange fixation on her. A beautiful and compelling leader that she had somehow gotten herself even more irrevocably entangled with, thanks to the cursed forest that had messed up her life to begin with. Rowan was openly sobbing now, choking on her shuddering breaths. She hadn’t really, truly broken down and cried it out since coming to Middle Earth. Her body seemed to have decided now, in front of Raeveth and Thranduil, was just the perfect moment for that. Once the ball got rolling, it was impossible to stop.  
    Both Elves were looking rather beside themselves, not knowing what to do. Rowan would hazard a guess that Elves as a whole tended to have much more sedate reactions. Raeveth had finished applying her burning potion and was quickly placing the wooden splints and rewrapping Rowan’s leg. Thranduil had bent his tall self over to look closer at Rowan’s tormented face, intense blue eyes mildly alarmed as he searched hers for a sign of what he should do to make this stop. As soon as Raeveth had finished, she quickly gathered her things and placed a third bottle on the table by the bed, then bowed deeply to the king and excited the room. Rowan couldn’t blame her, she wouldn’t want to linger with a crying girl and a hovering monarch ether. Once they were alone again, Thranduil’s need for decorum lapsed, and he slowly lowered himself to sit on the bed beside her, ridiculously long robes waterfalling onto the floor. With equal deliberateness, he turned and gripped Rowan’s shoulder when she rolled away from him, sobs wracking her body.  
      
    “Rowan.”  
      
    She didn’t answer, just hiccuped.  
  
    He sighed and reached for her again, grasping her sylphlike waist as his two pale hands nearly enclosed her lower ribcage completely. Effortlessly, Thranduil lifted and pulled her up towards him, until she was sitting in the cage of his long arms and legs, back pressed to his chest. One of his arms held her there by the torso. Even through all those layers of clothing. she could feel the bond between them _thrum_ happily where they touched. A cold jolt of fear went through her. She squirmed and tried to get away from the reminder of what was happening. He brought his other velvet-clad arm down to hold her more securely.  
      
    “ _Riressil_ , please. Your terror claws at my heart like a frightened bird. I cannot think when you are so full of fear…” Thranduil implored softly, head somewhere above and to the left of her ear.  
      
    Did he really literally feel what she felt? Did it go both ways? Would both of them die if something happened to the other one? Would he become mortal, or would she become immortal? Rowan’s mind raced with questions that only spawned another endless list of questions. She struggled to breathe and clear her head. She hated to admit it, but the steady pressure of Thranduil’s arms and the regular rise and fall of his chest helped slow her own breathing to a calmer pace. He smelled like the woods, all the best parts of it. Crisp leaves, summer rain, cold fog, spicy tree sap, spring flowers. Her heart stopped beating so furiously and joined his steadfast rhythm. For a long moment, it was silent but for their synchronous breathing.  
  
    “You keep calling me ‘ _Riressil_ ’,  what does that mean?” Rowan asked, eyes fixed forward as she studied the details of the embroidered coverlet they sat upon.  
  
    She could feel Thranduil’s amused grin against her scalp. He took a slender portion of her hair and drew it across her forehead in an approximation of where his own circlet currently rested on his silver head.  
      
    “It is a name meaning ‘crowned with red’ in Elvish.”  
      
    Rowan smiled sadly.  
      
    “Are you going to let me leave?”  
      
    Thranduil’s arm tightened around her waist infinitesimally.  
      
    “You know I cannot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh.....I am so looking forward to new setting, new friends, new relationship to build on for the next couple chapters (even if Rowan is probably just gonna keep trying to punch Thranduil for a while).
> 
> Title from the song by ThouShaltNot.


	8. A Shadow of Your Own Self

_My Sorrow, when she's here with me,_  
_Thinks these dark days of autumn rain_  
_Are beautiful as days can be;_  
_She loves the bare, the withered tree;_  
_She walks the sodden pasture lane._

  
**Chapter Eight**

  
  
    For a long while, Rowan simply let Thranduil hold her in his covetous grasp, as her tired mind wandered. Her chest felt hollow at his earlier reply. Of course he would not let her go so easily. She’d already known that, on some level, since months ago when their hands had touched in their dream and the connection flared between them for the first time. She’d seen it in that odd, obsessive look on his face as his stalked towards her. Something in him had decided then and there that he had a right to her, even before they physically touched and Rowan’s fate was sealed. Thranduil’s plans for her remained mostly unclear. She was not a curiosity, an asset, or a doll. Rowan didn’t understand his intentions, nor did she truly care. So long as they included keeping her locked inside a cavern, she would never be happy. She would wither like a flower without sun.  
    Rowan let out of long, soft sigh. When her leg was healed, she would escape him or fight him. She just had to survive until then.  
    The Elvenking, currently draped around her, seemed to stir at this sound, slowly unwinding his limbs from her with no small amount of reluctance. As soon as their bodies stopped touching, the bond between them felt empty and cold. Like stepping away from the comforting heat of a fireplace. Rowan cursed inwardly. Supernatural match-matching trees may think they could decide her fate, but she was not about to start willingly cuddling up to the man holding her prisoner just to feel better. Thranduil seemed to feel the loss too, as he had to pause a moment to recover his stern facade. He eventually stood, and then exited the room in a few strides of his long legs. Only a moment later, the effervescent Blue Eyes returned.  
    Blue Eyes, as it turned out, was called Eccaieth. She was as patient and as good natured as before, while she fussed over Rowan and helped her to shuffle underneath the terribly luxurious blankets.  
  
    “I’m sorry I was rude before.” Rowan mumbled into her pillow, once she was situated. She meant it, the dutiful elven lady had done nothing to earn her ire. That sat squarely with Thranduil, and perhaps the four guard Elves whose pointed ears she still intend to box.  
      
    Eccaieth squeezed her shoulder gently. “I know you are scared. But I have faith that your path will become clearer with time.”  
      
    Rowan nodded and tried her best to believe those words as she fell into a fitful slumber.  
      
    Time after that passed in a strange and languid dream. One period of darkness simply slipped into the next. It might have been days, or a full week, but with the lack of sunlight it was impossible to tell. Sometimes the hanging incandescent light was on, sometimes it was off. Her leg quietly throbbed in unrelenting pain, reminding her of her helplessness as she was unable to even walk before the cursed thing healed. Until she could shape shift again, time seemed meaningless and days insignificant. She wanted to somehow open her eyes to a different reality. Whenever Rowan felt her mind skim the surface of waking, she would dive back down again, unwilling to face the world around her.  
     Sometimes she dreamed of home. Stomping through russet autumn leaves in the forest under the sky of the Blue Ridge Mountains, waiting to hear Foxglove’s voice calling her inside. Going to her first community dance in the main barn at Fox Farm, lantern light twinkling high above her and paper decorations rustling lightly as people spun about. Sitting next to Orpheus as he plotted out the route of their next road trip with his big, sunburnt hands. Other times, she was in Arda. Running over the plains as a bear next to Beorn, powerful and free by his side, and she could almost feel the wind in her fur. Sleeping in a pile of softly snoring dogs by the cobblestone hearth. Listening to Radagast’s fascinating stories at the table in the early hours of morning, his dirty face growing more animated with each telling.  
    Once in a while, Rowan would be conscious enough to see that Eccaieth had brought her food, or was trying to talk to her, but then she would just roll over and burrow back into the deep. Her dreams were sweet and the task of being a functioning person again felt too tremendous to bear. She didn’t feel hungry, she felt adrift and lost. Her head and her heart ached. Sometimes though, they were just empty, like she had cried out everything inside her the night she first woke up here.  
    The next time Rowan's eye's opened, Thranduil’s pale and perfect face was eye-level with hers, as he knelt by the bed. Those blue eyes were so light they looked nearly silver as they held hers in their spell. His fingers deftly carded through her hair in a repetitive motion. Warm static traveled up her scalp from his touch, and it felt wonderful whether she wanted it to or not.  
      
    “Are you ill?” His voice, still captivating, was uncharacteristically full of doubt.  
      
    Rowen blinked at him owlishly.  
      
     _Homesick._ She thought.  
      
    Thranduil’s face twitched just slightly, which for him was quite a tell. Had he heard the thought she directed at him?  
      
    His hand was still stroking her long red mane. Rowan’s eyes drifted closed again. As darkness retook her, she heard a sad sigh.  
  
    Her following wake-up call was much more abrupt, and far less intimate. Her head swam unpleasantly from being thrust into waking. Light slipped into her eyes like daggers. Eccaieth was shaking her narrow shoulders with no small amount of vigor. Rowan groaned and blinked her eyes repeatedly, not understanding what could possibly be going on. She was injured and bedridden unless carried, and under Thranduil’s thumb anyhow, what could anyone possibly want from her?  
      
    “My lady, you have a visitor.” Eccaieth was waving her hand in front of Rowan’s face to grab her attention. “It has been three days now and he has been very…persistent.”  
      
    Rowan yawned. Her head ached terribly and felt full of sand.  
      
    “He’s been annoying you?” She asked in a croaking voice.  
      
    “…One might say that.”  
      
    Eccaieth offered Rowan some water, the cup looked like elegant gold leaves wrapping around each other. Rowan was grateful for something to wash the awful taste in her mouth away and the cool liquid felt heavenly to her dry throat. The mothering she-elf wiped Rowan’s sleepy face with a damp cloth hurriedly after she tucked plush pillows around to support Rowan’s slowly slipping sitting position, and stood back and sighed. It seemed that she decided that was good enough, as she turned to go and let their ‘persistent’ guest in.  
    Veryan’s dark cocoa crop of hair peaked around the door, followed by a worried face. Eccaieth moved to the other side of the room, looking away to give them some illusion of privacy. The male elf was no longer wearing his green cloth and brown leather uniform, opting for a more subdued combination of a deep blue knee-length tunic, dark breeches, and leather boots. His hair was shockingly in _four_ small braids this time, two on each side. Variety was the spice of life, Rowan supposed.  
      
    “I’m surprised to see you here.” Rowan observed loftily, trying to seem commanding even as she sat in bed, half asleep in a rather rumpled nightgown.  
          
    Veryan was polite enough to look properly mollified. “I am truly sorry that we could not return you to your friend. I did not know things would end this way…when you would not see me I feared some great sickness had come upon you.”  
      
    “So you lied to me after I saved your life?” Rowan hissed, prickling at his admission.  
  
    “We did not lie! After you fell unconscious we could not wake you. In that state, it was unacceptable to just leave you by the edge of the forest. We had to take you back with us.” His face fell. “I did not know our king was looking for you. Or that you would be forbidden to go.”  
      
    “Yes, and now I’ve been sentenced to imprisonment here, after committing no crime.”  
      
    The tension hung heavy between them.  
      
    “I truly apologize for my part in it, but is your solution to simply give up and let yourself starve? That does not sound like the girl who turned into a giant cat and jumped onto a monstrous spider to save an elf that she had never met.”  
      
    Rowan glared at him for a long moment, intensely studying his exquisite face for any sign of mockery or dishonesty. Yet there were none, and to be honest, his words had truth to them. She hadn’t planned to _die_ , that was dramatic and directly contradicted her plan to go home again. She had certainly lost the motivation to maintain her health, though. Sleeping for days and not eating wasn’t going to help her leg heal or do anything truly to alleviate her suffering. All it did was put her problems off until the next morning and alarm the very watchful elves around her. Rowan sighed in acquiescence.  
.  
    “If I promise to eat something later, will you promise to visit me again? I’ve seen nothing but this room ever since I woke up here.”  
      
    Veryan’s expression brightened. “Of course! When I am not on patrol I will seek you out every day if you wish it.”  
      
    “Yes, I wish it.” Rowan couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “But I’m still quite furious with the others until they come to me for their penance.”  
      
    “Oh, most certainly. I will make sure they are aware of the state of their honor.”  
      
    Rowan nodded imperiously.  
      
    Veryan’s winning smile made any promise seem worth making. Eccaieth had started to move in on them, obviously eager to kick Veryan out and force Rowan to make good on her promise to start taking care of herself. He eventually allowed himself to be shooed from the room, after many theatrics and honestly renewing his promises to visit the next day. Rowan’s heart felt just a little lighter under the weight of stone that it crushed it.  
    She picked at a plate of fruit and wheat bread that had sat untouched from her breakfast. Eccaieth opened the small door to the right of the bed, which had remained closed thus far. Rowan could now hear running water coming from within, it was easy to assume it was a washroom. When her guardian returned, she beamed proudly, pleased to see that most of the food had been eaten. Eccaieth helped Rowan into a sort of fireman’s hold, balancing her weight on the surprisingly strong elf’s shoulder, so that she could carry her into the next room. For Rowan, the day she could walk by herself couldn’t come soon enough.  
    The washroom was unsurprisingly lovely, matching the cold splendor of the bedroom. Its stone walls were delicately carved to depict flowing rivers, misty waterfalls, and leaping fish. A deep bathtub was in the center, connected to the ceiling by four corinthian columns decorated with inlaid ivy designs. In a recessed alcove there was a rudimentary faucet plated in gold, and large water pitcher. An unlit fireplace dominated most of the left wall, its mouth wide and coming to a pointed arch. The wall opposite simply contained a tall shelf upon which sat many gleaming jewel-like bottles of what Rowan could only assume were hygiene and beauty products, as well as neatly folded stacks of towels in various sizes. Several circular glass lamps hung on chains from the ceiling, their pale glow pleasantly illuminating the space.  
    As ridiculously beautiful as every object in the elf-made washroom was, it was still one of the most awkward baths of Rowan’s life. She didn’t particularly mind being nude, as that had often just been a necessity of her life, but she terribly resented being helpless. Having to maintain her bandaged leg’s balance on the edge of the bathtub, the rest of her attention mostly went to trying to keep herself from falling over in the knee-deep lilac-scented water. Her head accidentally slipped under the surface more than once. Eccaieth scrubbed her body clean and washed her hair quite efficiently, not prolonging the embarrassment, which Rowan was grateful for. Upon seeing herself naked, it was obvious Rowan actually had a great number of healing scrapes and cuts that just hadn’t registered compared to the grievous injury to her leg. The pleasant smelling herbal soap Eccaieth used eased any soreness to them. It smelled like one her mother made at home.  
    After that ordeal was over, Eccaieth helped Rowan to sit on the wide edge of the bathtub, wrapped in the towel, while the elf wrung out her hair and squeezed it as dry as possible with another cloth. Once it was only slightly damp, she carried Rowan the short distance back to the bed in the other room. Rowan was grateful for the peaceful silence between them at the moment. She didn’t not want to talk, but she didn’t particularly want to talk either, so she stayed quiet. Eccaieth had opened the armoire and pulled out a dress. It was a cool lavender color, a becoming contrast to Rowan’s warm red hair. The fabric was a woven jacquard, the swirls of contrasting satin and matte thread making a subtle pattern. Rowan raised her arms and her companion pulled it down over her head. Once laced up, the high bust and the long sleeves hugged her form, and the empire-waisted skirts softly flared out down to her feet. It fit her suspiciously well. Rowan was similar in build to a female elf, but slightly shorter, and even flatter in the chest than any elf maid she had yet seen. Rowan stewed on that observation for a bit as Eccaieth sat down on the bed behind her and started to brush out her nearly dry hair. The mother of pearl comb slid easily through her long tresses. Thranduil’s presumptuousness would never cease to amaze her. So had the Elvenking just _happened_ to know of someone with a body type similar to hers? Unlikely, since her previous wardrobe had belonged to a fifteen year old human boy. She hadn’t been here in his kingdom nearly long enough for so many clothes to have been made. The only conclusion she could come to was that Thranduil, in his supreme overconfidence, had at some point in the past begun anticipating her arrival without consulting her on it first. Well, he _had_ asked… and she’d repeatedly said no. That was even worse! Just then Eccaieth hit a snag in her hair and Rowan hissed involuntarily.  
    When they were done, Rowan had a circlet of delicate braids looping around her head, while the rest hung loose and straight over the undeniably pretty lavender dress. Were she able to walk and spin about the room, she thought she might look like some romantic fairytale heroine. She smiled at her elf companion gratefully. It wasn’t her fault the king was being creepy.  
      
    “Thanks, I feel a lot better.”  
      
    “I am glad to hear it, little tree.”  
  
    Rowan’s heart ached acutely to hear Radagast’s nickname for her.  
  
    Eccaieth, unaware of the pain squeezing her ward’s chest, walked over to one of the room’s two wooden shelves. They housed a variety of pretty objects, including books that looked to be in languages Rowan could not read. The elf pulled one down and brought it over. “I found this in the main library yesterday, it is in Westron. I was hoping you would enjoy reading it.”  
      
    Rowan was skeptical but grabbed the volume anyway, It was fairly light, bound in shiny blue leather, with silver embossed lettering and designs decorating it. Two trees gracefully formed an arch on either side of the cover. At first glance the title did not appear to be English, or Common Tongue, but it was actually just a rather odd looking font that was readable if one concentrated. _The Valaquenta_ it proclaimed in shimmering metallic letters. Just as Rowan started to turn to the first page, the door opened.  
    Thranduil stood there, exaggerated train of his dark silver robe trailing behind him on the floor just slightly. Rowan’s skin danced with electricity just from being in proximity to him. His silver crown of branches was upon his head again, jutting up from his hair. His expression was rather surly, for his standards. Though, to most people it would still be perceived as a mask of vague hauteur. Upon fully taking in the sight of his red-haired invalid, the king’s countenance changed to genuine surprise.  
  
    “You look…beautiful. Like a sunrise.” He remarked honestly after a moment’s consideration.  
      
    If _anyone_ else had uttered that phrase, Rowan would have laughed in their face. It would just sound too corny and melodramatic to ever say that to someone. But coming from _him_ , who never outright joked, who had more royal bearing in his little finger than any person she’d ever met, she couldn’t laugh. The compliment was so genuinely meant she couldn’t even bring herself to be catty at that precise moment. It did confuse her, though. Rowan wasn’t down on herself about her looks, no. She knew there was a certain appeal to her sharp but sleek physical body, even if some humans found it off-putting. Elves were just off in another galaxy in terms of beauty, and that was that. Rowan looked Thranduil in his blue eyes curiously, still not seeing or feeling any lie there.  
      
    “Thank you.”  
      
    Thranduil nodded, shifting his weight as he looked down at her. “I understand one of my guards visited you.”  
      
    “Oh, yes, Veryan owed me after I jumped on a spider for him.”  
      
    “So you will listen to one of _my_ guards, instead of me, when they ask you to stop starving yourself?” The pent-up frustration of the past few days was starting to bleed into his deep voice.  
  
    “Look, thanks to him, I ate and I got dressed. Isn’t that what you want? Aren’t you happy with you obedient captive now?” Rowan’s barely-contained ire spiked in response to Thranduil’s tone.  
      
    The Elvenking paused and breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, while he tried to regain composure.  
  
    “You weren’t dressed when he saw you?”  
      
    Rowan tried very hard not to laugh. _That_ was what he was asking her about now? Because of propriety, jealousy? It seemed to her like the better half of the Anduin Valley had probably seen her nude by now. And now the king was miffed that Veryan had recently seen her in a rather conservative nightgown? She tried to suppress it, but a smirk played at Rowan’s lips. This was just too easy.  
      
    “Bear in mind, your majesty, that when your guards and I first met, I was naked as the day I was born.”  
      
    Thranduil’s face immediately went nearly white with fury and he positively shook with repressed rage at her flippancy. Rowan’s bright gray eyes met his slashing blue ones. She refused to look away, refused to back down. Part of her _dared_ him to strike her and break his promise to never harm her. She sent that thought out along the bond between them, wondering if he’d hear it past the obvious turmoil in his own head. She was tired of cowering in front of him. The air crackled between them for what felt like an eternity, before he finally turned on his heel and swept out of the chamber, muttering about “vulgar” and "no better than a wildcat" as the door slammed behind him.  
    Rowan was left alone again in her lovely cage.  
    After some time, staring at the ceiling and thinking spiteful things in Thranduil’s direction began to bore her. She rolled over and stroked her hand across the cover of the book Eccaieth left her. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. The tanned leather spine of the tome crinkled as Rowan laid it open on the bed, settling in on her stomach and propping her face up with one hand. The foreign calligraphy that just barely counted as English was challenging to read at first, but as Rowan kept going she noticed it less and less. The book was history of sorts, but more of the mythological kind. It told the story of the creation of Arda by the great god Eru and his god-children, the Valar. While vague and lacking in real historical details of any specificity, she found it a fascinating perspective into the religion of the Middle Earth. Rowan couldn’t even be dismissive of it, given what she herself had witnessed firsthand. Magic didn’t exist here only as vague miracle, after all. The second part of the book described the gods themselves in much more detail, each existing with a different purpose and skill set. She exclaimed with a little noise of delight when she realized that the woman carved into the headboard of her bed was Nessa the Swift. Married to a great warrior, Nessa was known for her incredible fleetness of foot, and love of dancing. She often ran through the forest with her deer companion by her side, alive and wild. Rowan smiled to herself. This was a goddess she could admire.  
    It seemed as though several hours passed in the blink of an eye as she engrossed herself in studying the book— reading and rereading certain parts, checking back to others for reference. She didn’t even hear the door when it slowly opened again. Rowan did, however, feel the tell-tale shiver of magic over her skin. The Elvenking was looking down at her expectantly when she shut her book and looked up. Here before her in all his royal state, elegantly draped robes, and priceless jewelry, he still looked for all the world rather like a penitent school boy.  
      
    “It _occurred_ to me…that you have not left this room. If you are desirous of a change of scenery, I would show you some of the city.” His voice was even and controlled, not commanding, simply stating.  
      
    Rowan narrowed her eyes a moment, considering. She still thought he had been quite insufferable earlier, and besides that, was obviously still unjustly imprisoning her here in the first place. However, until she could remedy said unjust imprisonment, she did not want to continue to solely abide in this room. Besides, the more she knew of the cavern’s layout would only aid her escape, in the end. Satisfied with this conclusion, Rowan nodded and set aside her book.  
    Thranduil’s shoulders relaxed just a few centimeters. He bent down and moved to carefully collect her slight figure into his arms. As soon as their bodies touched, that inescapable bond flared with renewed life. It felt like the comforting heat of the warm afternoon sun in her veins. Rowan tensed for a moment, wanting to move away, then remembered there was really no other option for her to get around, other than to be carried right now. Why had elves not developed some manner of wheelchair? Surely they broke bones now and then? The Elvenking gracefully lifted her and made towards to door, temporarily transferring her weight to one arm as he reached for the handle. This movement made Rowan clutch at his robe in surprise, and she could have sworn that she saw him smirk.  
    As he bore her under the archway, she could see that it led to a large living room of sorts. Roughly octagonal in shape, the entirety of her parents’ trailer could have fit inside the chamber. A few heavily decorated pillars connected the ceiling to the floor here and there. On the right side of the room, there was and enormous fireplace that Rowan likely could have stood up inside of. Its mantle was formed by two stone carved trees on either side, rising up and then bending inward to meet in the middle. A finely woven deep red mat covered the floor in front of its hearth, and several comfortable chairs and padded benches sat a little farther back. The very center of the round chamber housed a circular table, with a bottle of dark purple wine casually set upon it, along with various maps and other papers in that unreadable elvish script. Along the other walls, tall cherry wood shelves of books towered and beautiful tapestries of woodland scenes hung. The ceiling was covered in expansive knotwork patterns, and dozens of little glass lights hung, giving the effect of fairy lights. Three other doorways were placed equidistantly, deeply recessed into the room’s walls.  
      
    “Where do all the doors lead?” Rowan piped up curiously, as Thranduil started to move towards one in particular.  
      
    “This one will take us out into a passageway. The next leads to a study. The other to my chambers.”  
      
    Rowan fixed him with a look.  
      
    “Isn’t that just _so_ convenient for you.”  
      
    He refused to return her burning stare as he exited into a rather unremarkable stone hallway.  
      
    “It seemed the most sensible option.”  
  
    Rowan was about to bite out some acidic retort, when they came through the end of the short passage, and the full glory of the Elvenking’s halls was suddenly before her. The splendorous result of the Elves’ determination to fuse their artistry with nature was on full display. The raw rock of the mountain, massive tree roots, and elven architecture had come together to make a spacious underground wonderland. In the cavern, great arches of stone rose up to various heights, which had then been chiseled into walkways and bridges, connecting a series of platforms. Glittering stalactites formed high above, pointed down towards them. Everything that had been manipulated by elven hands only served to enhance the beauty of the place, working seamlessly within the great mountain cave. Knotwork designs would start in tightly carved relief, and slowly fade upward into the natural texture of the background. The lofty vaults of the ceiling had delicately pointed gothic archways and gables of interlocking leaf-like shapes. The hall was lit by those softly glowing glass lamps, and she could see warm green moss and lichen growing here and there.  
    It was quiet as they traversed the sweeping natural pathways. Rowan thought she might break her neck turning this way and that to look at everything they passed. Thranduil’s mood remained obliging as he answered her multitude of questions, seemingly glad she was too distracted to start fighting him again. The majority of the elves Rowan could see milling about were just the guards that stood at most major doorways. That suited her dignity just fine, as she didn’t want a whole kingdom of elves seeing her hauled around by their king like a sack of potatoes. The layout of the underground city was a wonder of its own. A series of great cavernous halls, housing a throne room, a barracks, a marketplace, as well as countless smaller chambers that included dining halls and personal apartments. Everywhere, the elves found ways to make things from lampposts to guardrails almost obscenely beautiful. Rowan supposed a true appreciation and cultivation of beauty would make sense amongst a race that seemed physically perfect in every way.  
    For being underground, the halls were not overly dark and not even a little damp. Not breezy, but adequately temperate and dry. The atmosphere was much more pleasant than one would ever imagine underground. But everywhere Rowan looked, she could not find even the slightest hint of the sun.  
   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nessa is underappreciated and I love her. Anyway, this chapter was a sort of short and quiet interlude, but the next one will have much more active things happening :)  
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Title is from the song by Sirenia.


	9. A Ghost Between Us

_Her pleasure will not let me stay._  
_She talks and I am fain to list:_  
_She's glad the birds are gone away,_  
_She's glad her simple worsted grey_  
_Is silver now with clinging mist._

  
  
**Chapter Nine**

  
    Some weeks later, the splints and wrappings on Rowan’s leg were removed by Raeveth, and the limb was declared safe to walk on. Thranduil was utterly unprepared for the focused campaign of hell-raising the skinchanger then unleashed upon his kingdom. Being bedridden did not suit her, and being caged against her will far less so. For nearly a month, Rowan had been confined to her room or wherever the Elvenking deigned to carry her. Frustration and anxiety built in her as the time passed and the summer slipped into early fall, nearly driving her mad. It was time to get out. Unfortunately, the exits out to the forest and her freedom were far too heavily guarded for Rowan to just storm the door and have done with it. She would have to take her time to find a weak spot that she might slip through. In the meantime, she set about making Thranduil’s endeavor to lock her away under the mountain as miserable for him as possible. He would not find her some house-cat so easily tamed.  
    When the king could pin her down (sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally), he would leave Rowan to some sedate activity like reading in the library or practicing Elvish in their shared parlor. But no sooner than he came back to check on her, she was gone like a leaf in the wind. She delighted in making herself as scarce as possible. No one else seemed to have caught on that she could change form into a veritable zoo of different creatures, rather than just a great cat. Once, she had even turned into a rainbow trout and hid in the bathtub for three hours while the Thranduil and Eccaieth went quite undone in their attempts to find her, which they eventually did— a few hours later, mysteriously soaking wet and sitting naked on the stone floor. She only regretted hurting the feelings of sweet Eccaieth with her exploits, though sometimes Rowan believed she saw the elf’s blue eyes twinkle with amusement.  
    Once mobile, Rowan quickly discovered the barracks where the guards retired on to their nights off. The herd of dark haired warriors were good company, on the whole, though some were more reserved than others. She guilted and goaded Huoriel, Uiron, Veryan, and sometimes even Falathiel, into teaching her to use a sword. They had all rolled their eyes and protested excessively at first, knowing how well the king would respond to them handing her a sharp object. They fancied keeping themselves out of the dungeons if they could help it. But, Rowan had a valid point. Her weapons skills were nil— she relied totally on her animal instincts and ability to shapeshift when in combat. In humanoid form she was nimble, but not overwhelmingly strong, especially when compared with a goblin. It would only serve her safety to have a basic understand of swordplay… and hopefully their ruler would never find out about it.  
    As her other independent pursuit, Rowan rather enjoyed exploring the great caverns. They were not comparable to the appeal of breezy plains or endless woods, but they were quite large and very interesting. Using enhanced claws and agility, and tearing more than one dress, she determinedly climbed up every natural archway and explored every alcove and unused cave. Her greatest frustration was, that by virtue of age, Thranduil had simply more time to learn it all and thus seal off or place under guard any hidden exits. Nevertheless, she delighted in slipping out from under one of her guardians noses to find the remotest place possible to stow away at night. It became a game of sorts, to her anyway. She went on midnight adventures just often enough that it was hard to predict whether or not she’d make the attempt, sometimes going to bed sedately for days in a row before suddenly disappearing. It was horribly easy anyway— Thranduil tended not to come back from his kingly duties until late in the evening, and so there was usually a golden opportunity for escape in the hour or so of preparing for sleep with Eccaieth. Rowan almost thought that the outwardly dutiful elf was allowing it on purpose. Once Rowan had slipped out the door and snuck down some oft-ignored passageway, she would find the most unlikely and hard to reach nesting place, and curl up there for the night.  
    Hiding her presence itself was a complicated matter, beyond merely hiding. Rowan had learned as the time passed that she and Thranduil could sort-of sense the location of the other through an electric game of hot-and-cold. The closer they got to one another, the stronger the pull of their bond became, the more Rowan’s skin lit up with that strange static. She could only guess that Thranduil could feel the same thing. On the other hand, Rowan had also learned from her fishy trick in the bathtub, that if she was conscious she could somewhat subdue her magic signal flare. The practice exhausted her however, requiring near constant focus, and the moment she grew truly sleepy, their bond lit back up like a Christmas tree. So most mornings after those adventures, she awoke to find herself back in her own bed and Thranduil looking particularly smug as he greeted her the next day. It was Rowan’s personal triumph, though, when she bested him against the odds in his own home and found some ledge or small grotto where he could not find her, or at very least could not reach her.  
    Tonight did not turn out to be one of those little victories. The steady motion of the King's smooth gait was the first thing Rowan noticed as her bleary eyes blinked open. Her rather sore neck lolled over the Thranduil's silk-clad shoulder, her curtain of vermillion hair spilling down his back. He held her high against his chest, one long arm under her back and the other securing her dangling white legs. The magic in their bond flowed between them at every point their bodies touched, Rowan felt adrift in the heady rush of power.  
  
    “I can walk now.” She announced lethargically.  
  
    “Oh, I am _well_ aware of the fact.” Thranduil replied tersely, as her mobility had been an endless source of personal frustrations.  
  
    Rowan was beginning to feel a bit more awake and started squirming uncomfortably in his immovable arms, wiggling in an attempt to make him drop her. His limbs may as well have been stone, as they did not yield in the slightest. Giving up on that route, she instead gripped his shoulders and began to pull herself upwards, putting her weight on her arms and hoisting her body up, until Thranduil was forced to readjust his hold to catch her lithe figure.  
  
    “Rowan, I am not a tree, you cannot climb me.”  
  
    She gave him hum of acknowledgement, and continued trying to pull herself up and over his shoulder, though it was considerably harder now that he had a grip around her torso and thighs in a tight fireman’s hold. Fortunately for him, they had arrived at the door to their apartments.  
  
    “You may want to lower your head.” He cautioned dryly.  
  
    Rowan did so just in time as they passed under the doorway. The incandescent lights were out, the room was instead dimly lit by a low blaze in the fireplace. When the summer had begun to fade, a chill crept into the caverns at night. She supposed the fire being lit this early in the year may have been for her benefit, as she hadn’t noticed the elves being particularly perturbed by the weather one way or the other. Rowan expected Thranduil to move towards the door to her room and sternly place her back into her own bed, now that they were back in their shared antechamber. Instead, he made his way over to a comfortable looking settee, with a sloped back and curling armrests. Disentangling Rowan from himself, he lifted her again easily with two hands around her slender waist, setting her down upon the sofa without a word. This meant it was a night for another fruitless lecture, she figured. Normally, he would then release her and back off to a respectable distance to vent about her defiance, as that was how for how those stand-offs usually went, but the grip on her ribcage remained firm this time. Thranduil simply sunk down with her until he gracefully knelt upon one knee and they were roughly eye level.  
      
    “Let me go!” She hissed unhappily, not liking the way the pressure on her torso was sending electric sparks through her skin.  
      
    “I want you to behave in a civilized manner for once and actually listen to me.”  
      
    “Well, I can’t! Let me _go_!” Rowan felt claustrophobic, like the simple weight of his hands and the sensation of their ethereal bond could crush her.  
  
    She started to struggle in earnest, pushing at his shoulders with the heels of her palms, and kicked her legs wildly. The Elvenking, as usual, appeared to be made of marble and could not be budged. She folded her legs upward, bracing her thighs against her abdomen and then shoved with all her might. Thranduil rewarded her with a pained grunt, but did not release her, simply moved closer so that her legs were now trapped between him and the edge of the settee. Rowan felt her breathing start to come in short rasping breaths as panic set in. She felt like goldfinch in the maw of a feral cat. Her vision swam.  
      
    “Please, _please_ …I can’t breathe!’ She gasped out with a whimper.  
      
    Something in her plea must have resonated, as Thranduil immediately relented, releasing her entirely from his grasp and sitting back on his heels. Rowan shrank away, until she hit the back of the sofa. Tucking her knees under her nightgown and bringing them to her chest, she regarded him warily through the hair that had fallen in front of her face. Her breathing was easier, now that there was some air between them, and the static still present but no longer consuming. She wiped away the tears that had previously started to pool in her eyes.  
    Thranduil looked genuinely contrite. His beautiful, full lips were twisted in an anguished expression and his pale eyes were solemn but pleading. With no crown, his length of moonlight hair fell about his shoulders almost casually. Dressed in a simple velvet robe over a knee length tunic and dark breeches, he looked _nearly_ human. Not in the sense that Rowan had ever met a human being so physically exquisite as him, but he was less…terrifying in his perfection at that moment. It seemed a little less like he was some lofty, untouchable creature made of starlight, and more like he was…a person. A deeply flawed person who did not understand the ramifications of what he was doing to her or how to talk to someone without manhandling them. But a person, sort of.  
      
    “I would never, I could never harm you…I let my temper rule my actions, and you fear me yet again. I am sorry for scaring you, _Riressil_.” His lips lifted into the ghost of a smile at the use of his pet name for her. “I forget sometimes you are made of flesh, and not air. It seems every time I turn around you are gone.”  
      
    Rowan huffed.  
      
    “Let someone lock you away underground and see how eager you are to stay put.”  
      
    Thranduil sighed.  
      
    “You are aware of what it feels like when we are apart for a matter of hours. Imagine how that wound might open over a great distance. You are so very young, you could not begin to realize what a lifetime, what _centuries_ of that could feel like.” His voice was so sad and knowing, she thought he very well might have firsthand knowledge.  
      
     “I don’t belong here.” was all Rowan could think to whisper in response, not able to face the pain in his ageless eyes.  
      
    Neither of them said anything else for a long time. Thranduil did slowly rise and move to the other side of the settee, careful to mind the perimeter of personal space Rowan had set. He folded himself gracefully into a sitting position, regal as ever, even though there was a slight droop to his weary shoulders. Rowan looked away, lost in her own thoughts, letting a strand of her hair run through her fingers distractedly. In the soft light of the fire, it looked almost orange. She wondered if there would ever be a way for her and Thranduil to see eye to eye. It seemed a gap in understanding too vast to bridge— she would do anything to go home and he would do anything to stop her.  
  
    “I had a question, that I wanted to ask you earlier.” The Elvenking’s voice was low and soft and it drew her attention back to the present.  
  
    She turned towards him and quirked an eyebrow.  
      
     “There is a feast to be held tomorrow, to celebrate the end of the summer and beginning of autumn.”  
  
     Rowan already knew of it, Uiron had informed her of _many_ elven holidays. Apparently, as a race, they liked to have a party once a month or more.  
  
    Thranduil continued. “It would please me if you would go. Of your own volition.”  
      
    His phrasing sounded genuinely like it was a request, not an imperious order. Rowan knew her favorite guards would likely be in attendance, as would her dear Eccaieth. Though the idea of hours of elvish table manners made her internally shudder, she could behave properly when called upon. It certainly would be preferable to being alone, at any rate. Rowan just hoped there was not any great expectation for her to be attached to Thranduil the entire night, that could end badly for both of them. She let her internal monologue drag out a bit longer than needed, for dramatic effect, then turned back to the king.  
      
    “I’ll be there with bells on.” Rowan agreed optimistically, as she stood up and padded barefoot over to her bedroom door, leaving behind a throughly confused monarch.  
      
    “What does _that_ mean?”  
      
    She just laughed in response, the sound bubbling up from her chest unbidden. Once she started, it was quite difficult to suppress her giggles. Rowan closed the door firmly behind her before collapsing on the bed and giving up the effort entirely, unable to stop laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation.  
      
      
    Rowan felt unbearably nervous as she entered the hall by Thranduil’s side. Firstly, she hadn’t seen so many humanoid bodies gathered together since she had come to Middle Earth. Secondly, this felt way too much like the silly pageantry of being homecoming king and queen like she’d witnessed in movies. They were overly dressed up and everyone was _looking_ at them. Thranduil, of course, looked utterly royal in whatever he wore and his outfit for the evening only enhanced his regal bearing. The usual crown with green emerald leaves had been replaced by one with larger spikes of silver branches and had rubies imitating red berries. His hair was sleek and unbraided, its slight yellow undertone enhanced by the color of his clothing. His robe was an usual light gold fabric, the brocade pattern shimmering under the lights, even more dramatically tailored than usual. The collar was high and arched in an exaggerated part around his neck, and darted pleats in the fabric followed the front closure all the way down his broad chest. White-gold pauldrons held a burgundy cloak to his shoulders, velvet fabric joining the trailing hem of his robe as it fell to the floor. Underneath it all he wore light breeches and boots of wine red leather.  
    While the Elvenking lived up to his title by his unfailingly magnificent appearance, Rowan felt like she had stumbled into some fairy glade she did not belong in. Eccaieth had dressed her up with enthusiasm and skill, but the effect was…disarming. It was as if some changeling had spirited the real Rowan away, and taken her place. The persuasive she-elf had even convinced Rowan to wear a circlet— and elegant silver ring of intertwined leaves with dangling chains that gracefully shimmered in her unbound hair. Brushed and polished to a near mirror-shine, her heavy fall of russet locks now danced against her back with every step. The masterwork of this ensemble was her frothy concoction of a dupioni silk dress. It had a short train and was soft ivory in color, enhancing the alabaster hue of her own skin. The neckline went straight across her collarbones, baring her narrow shoulders, and the sleeves were fitted to the elbow, where they suddenly billowed outwards and fell to the floor in a graceful waterfall. The tight bodice went to just above her natural waist, at which point the full skirt parted to reveal an underskirt of a softer material. With the way her hair contrasted against her white dress, and the similar colors of the King’s raiment, Rowan could only think of blood and snow. She wrung her hands together miserably. Eccaieth had begged to her wear at least one other piece of jewelry— a silver ring in the shape if a deer’s head— which Rowan now twisted constantly in her anxiety.  
    A larger hand, wearing several much more ornate rings, reached over to clasp hers, stilling their nervous movement. Thranduil did not directly look at Rowan and draw the attention of others, but she felt his thumb stroke her wrist ever so subtly, willing her to be calm. The effect of their physical touch was immediate, as always. A comfortable _thrum_ of power went through her, steadying her nerves. Rowan remembered what he had said before, that he couldn’t think when she was frightened. Was it like that now? Did her piqued emotions bleed across their connection so easily? She couldn’t think of a time she’d truly _felt_ a raw emotion coming from the King. She didn’t care to try to poke around his head and find out, either.  
    After placidly greeting elves here and there, Thranduil and Rowan eventually made it to a long table, slightly raised on a dais above the others. A high-backed chair in a design of interlocked branches and antlers was placed in the middle of the row, flanked by two shorter but still very ornamental seats. The rest of the chairs were lovely in the usual elvish style, but did not particularly stand out. Unsurprisingly, the Elvenking seated himself in the tallest one, but not before helping Rowan into her seat in a courteous manner that had the unintended effect of making her feel extremely alarmed. She did _not_ want him behaving like she was his lady-love in front of a whole room of unfamiliar elves. It was bad enough she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on an extremely awkward date. Fortunately, Eccaieth, who had been trailing behind, sat herself down next to Rowan and so she had a distraction.  
    Elves, as it turned out, liked to drink a _lot_. Wood-elves did, anyway, as Rowan had no other elven culture to reference. After Thranduil had stood and given them a few ceremonial words and sat back down, the whole lot happily applied themselves to the task of getting inebriated with as much vigor and dedication as they gave their archery. Soon, the curious stares at Rowan were forgotten. She was able to sit back in her chair and contemplate her surroundings as she very slowly nursed a goblet of wine. The celebration hall was lit up beautifully with countless incandescent lights and dozens of torches. Great bowers of autumn leaves hung over their heads. Everything seemed bathed in a warm orange light. For all the splendor inside, Rowan’s heart ached at the thought of missing seeing the change of leaves herself. She tried to work at her food instead of feeling sad, but the wine on her empty stomach from before disagreed with her. So she shrugged and poured herself more wine while Eccaieth shot her a look of alarm.  
    Fortunately, it seemed that as blood alcohol levels rose, the pretense of maintaining fine table manners went away. Elves, even while drunk, were still unbearably graceful in everything they did, so they couldn’t be called _sloppy_ , but there was definitely a much more casual air to the room. The effects of Rowan’s two glasses of wine were buzzing around pleasantly in her head and giving a flush to her pale cheeks. With her lack of body density, it took not much more than a thimble of whisky to get her drunk. Eccaieth now batted her hand away whenever Rowan reached to refill her glass. She signed and rested her heated face against her hand. This was turning out…nicer, at least, than what she had anticipated when they first walk through the door. Thranduil was keeping his attention mostly off of her, diplomatically greeting elves who approached him and otherwise engaging in conversation with the captains of his guards. Falathiel was one of those esteemed squad leaders, and Rowan could have _sworn_ the female elf winked at her when she sat down. Every now and then, the king would turn his enigmatic blue gaze upon Rowan, as if checking to make sure she was still there, and not greatly misbehaving. Sometimes, without looking over, his hand would reach for hers under the table, just barely brushing their fingers together.  
    A few hours into the feast, things suddenly got much more interesting. Thranduil had left his chair to talk with some person of importance privately, and no sooner than he was gone, two very intoxicated and _very_ excited elves plopped down in his stead.  
  
    “We have something to show you.” Proclaimed Huoriel, reaching over to swipe a sip of her monarch’s forgotten wine.  
      
    “It is really very interesting. Only happens a few times a year.” Added Veryan, popping a red berry from Thranduil’s plate into his mouth.  
      
    Rowan raised her eyebrows, intrigued “And what’s this wonder of wonders?”  
      
    Huoriel and Veryan leaned in closer conspiratorially.  
      
    “You have to come with us, it will be much better just to take you there.”  
      
    Rowan almost protested, then caught herself. Why on earth would she _not_ go with them? She’d been quite well behaved for far long enough, and she didn’t even owe Thranduil that much. She nodded to her mischievous visitors and gracefully rose from her chair. Well, as gracefully as one could when the world looked so blurry. Huoriel casually swiped a full bottle of wine from the table, tucking it under one arm, while she linked her other with Rowan’s and Veryan did the same. The merry trio slipped out the door at the back of the hall, telling the other guards that they were escorting the poor inebriated lady back to her chambers. Once free of the room, they practically ran down the hall, gleeful and tipsy on their secret mission.  
    For a while, the three went vaguely downward, taking this walkway and that stairwell until they were quite deep under the weight of mountain. Then they simply moved forward, through smaller, winding passageways that went father out. Rowan had been down here before, of course. But she had never found anything, so clearly she had not been observant enough, if her two guides were to be believed. Finally, they reached a place where several hallways converged, and stopped. The wall there was flat and smooth, but inconspicuous. Rowan was about to ask what they were doing but Huoriel pressed a finger to her lips to shush her, and looked back to the wall. Rowan felt the shiver of magic.  
    It was not like the electric, ethereal presence of her bond with Thranduil, nor the energy from the collective soul of the trees. This was an enchantment of a different nature— its essence steady and deep as the mountain itself. Before her eyes, Rowan could see a door begin to form. At first it was just glowing lines of yellow light, swirling upward to form a magical painting of where a door ought to be. The picture came together as a great gate formed by antlers and slender tress, interlaced with lines of script in elvish.  
      
    “ _Merilin._ ” Veryan uttered in a reverent whisper, sounding surprisingly sober.  
      
    At his voice, the door of light shimmered and melted away, to reveal a real pathway behind it, a void in the rock wall leading into the dark. Rowan’s heart sped up. They crept through the hallway in almost perfect darkness, until a room was revealed on the other side. Once inside, she could see it wasn’t really a room so much as a vast cave naturally formed by the elements and mostly left alone by elven hands. An utterly still pond covered most of the cave floor, its silver surface a near perfect mirror. At the center of this body of water was a small, rocky island upon which sat a sad, twisted little tree too starved for sunlight to grow properly. Most breathtaking of all was the fact that high above them, through a paper thin crack in the rock, a beam of pure moonlight shone through. It fell upon a crystalized stalactite, which refracted the white light into a thousand sparkling stars. Rowan’s heart was in her throat as she looked up this tiny piece of celestial luminescence, magnified by its reflection in the cave. It was the first time she had seen any trace of the sky in a month. She could have gaped at it in wonder all night, but her companions pulled her along, making towards the water.  
    The depth of the water was only a trick of its reflection, appearing very deep but actually as high as one’s ankles. Huoriel and Veryan still opted to jump effortlessly from rock to rock, but Rowan happily kicked off her beaded slippers, lifted the train of her dress, and waded into it. She wiggled her toes experimentally. The cool water felt quite nice to her flushed skin, not icy yet, but just chill enough to make her shiver slightly. Her elven companions had made it to the little island and settled themselves down on its rocky shore, beckoning her over.  
      
    “Our lady looks like one of Ulmo’s water sprites, does she not?” Veryan queried Huoriel.  
      
    “Yes, I think it best we get her drunk again, lest she turn into sea foam and disappear into the waves.” The she-elf responded wisely.  
      
    Rowan let out a soft laugh that echoed in the stone cavern. Deep in her heart, she ached to think that some day soon she would have to leave them, one way or another. She may as well become sea foam before their immortal eyes. Casting such dour thoughts aside for this one night, Rowan waded to the shore, letting herself be pulled down to the ground between the tipsy warriors. Huoriel handed her the pilfered wine bottle and Rowan took an obliging swig. It warmed her down to her very toes and made her head buzz again, so she took another. Veryan laughed next to her right ear, taking the bottle himself.  
      
    “What is this place anyway?” Rowan wondered aloud.  
      
    “Long ago, when the Mirkwood Elves were…friendlier with the Dwarves, they worked together to create several secret doors here, and in their kingdom of Erebor.” Huoriel supplied.  
      
    “The doors aren’t very practical, they tend to only work at certain times or on certain days, and there’s usually a password.” Veryan added.  
      
    Rowan nodded. “I rather like this one, all the same.”  
      
    Both elves smiled brightly, glad to have pleased their strange little friend.  
      
    They lay there together in companionable silence for a long while, continuing to pass the wine back and forth, until one bottle was empty and the other was nearly gone. Rowan’s head was positively floating at that point. Everything felt dreamlike and blurry in this otherworldly sanctuary. Her hands and feet tingled, and she suddenly felt restless. Standing up, she looked down at the mirror-like water as it sparkled with refracted moonlight. Carefully, she set one pale foot upon its surface, wishing she were as light as air so that she might not disturb it at all. The hem of her shimmering ivory gown trailed heavily in the water behind her, and frustrated by its weight, she reached up and tugged at the point just underneath her bodice where the overskirt was fastened, yanking it free and tossing it back to the rocks. The soft underskirt that remained swished about her legs gracefully, a welcome relief. Rowan could deal with the impractical sleeves but not both at once, especially with every trailing piece of fabric presenting a new risk for tripping and falling on her face. Now free of the constriction of her finery, she did an experimental twirl. Her head spun. She laughed, and did it again, moving to silent music.  
      
    “The little skin changer dances like an elf!” Huoriel said in an overly loud, tipsy whisper.  
      
    “And you drink like a dwarf, _mellon-nin_!” Veryan replied, snatching the bottle from his friend’s grasp and draining the rest.  
      
    Rowan gave them a soft, distracted smile, and turned back to the cave. The thin trickle of light above called to her like a siren song, whispering of all the nights she had run freely through the forest, just like the Elves’ beloved goddess Nessa. Glimmers of light struck her skin as she twirled around, moving now in some odd but fluid dance, lost in the heady memory of freedom. Rowan felt the warmth and light of her power beneath her skin, and in her inebriation, she let it come forward to light up her form like a star fallen to earth. She didn’t direct the magic, didn’t use to it to reshape herself. She simply let it live on the surface of her, infusing her skin with a bath of its own moonlight as she continued to dance. Rowan’s arms swayed gently over her head, occasionally arcing outward with her movements as her nimble feet spun her about in graceful pirouettes, whirls, and pivots. Her mind felt free to soar above her, out of the cavern, into the sky. She felt a _part_ of everything, a light amongst many lights. She felt the stars, the moon, the sun, and all the distant galaxies, felt their heavenly forms and systems lift, falling slowly though the eternal blackness of space. Her spirit surged upward towards them, and then gracefully drifted back down. All around her, Rowan could hear the rising choir of the tree’s voices as they sang their exultation to the lights that gave them life. They loved the sun for its life-giving heat, and the moon for its guiding glow, and the stars for their immeasurable beauty. They prayed to the light for deliverance from the shadow of evil. Even here, so deep in earth, the sound of the trees was everywhere. Rowan realized she was not cut off from their spirit, their great roots were so deep in the soil that no cave could keep them out. She cast her thoughts out towards them, joining in their song, and they reacted with unadulterated joy and welcome.  
      
_“Our daughter, our daughter, how radiant she is.”_  
  
_“Your daughter?”_  
  
_“Yes, we are in you and you are of us!”_  
      
    Rowan wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she let the harmonious chanting of the soul of the woods wash through her mind while her body continued to move.  
      
_“Ah, our knight approaches! Dressed in starlight he comes to take the hand of our fair daughter.”_  
      
    Before Rowan was given time to reply, the electric pull of Thranduil’s touch went up her arm, drawing her back down into her physical body. She gasped, startled as if woken from a very deep sleep. Looking down at the place where their bodies connected, his grip on her wrist, she could see the light on her skin slowly receding back inside of her. Rowan snapped her head up to him, ready to demand an explanation for why he interrupted her, only to find the Elvenking staring off into the middle distance, disbelief written on his lovely face. Her gaze followed his. Huoriel and Veryan were gone, but the small island was full of life. That pathetic little tree so starved for sun had unfurled, now standing a little straighter and taller as its branches spread gracefully outward, heavy with the full weight of its bright green leaves. Tiny star-like white flowers bloomed at its base in what soil they could find.  
    Had she really done _that_? The feelings and images that came to her while she was dancing felt more like a dream, a perfect place above the troubles of this world. She had no idea how much time had passed. When the tree had bloomed? When had her friends and left and Thranduil arrived? Her head still felt fuzzy with drunkenness, now that she was back to herself. She wanted be with the stars and the trees again. Just when she had finally felt _free_ for the first time in so long, he’d come along and ruined it all over again. Rowan tried to tug her wrist away impatiently. Thranduil did not relent, pivoting her around so that he could grab her shoulders instead. His silver head bent low, close to the crown of her red one.  
      
    “You look as though you could grow wings and fly away from me, _Riressil_.”  
      
    The absolute surety in his tone, the unwavering conviction he held that it was his right to keep her imprisoned, it immediately set her blood to boiling. Rowan shrieked and kicked at him, struck his chest and his arms with her hands, churning up the shallow water around them. She was fighting him in earnest now, she did not care if he attacked her, if they grievously wounded each other. It just had to _end_. Her power being so close to the surface, it took but a thought for her fingertips to sharpen into razor claws, effortlessly cutting through the pale gold of his raiment. Red droplets welled up from a deep scratches on his chest and arms. _Blood and snow_ , Rowan thought again. Thranduil hissed in pain but only tried get a better grasp to subdue her, never counter attacking. He refused to give her satisfaction. He caught her wrist in his hand, and when she swiped at his face with other, he captured that one too.  
      
    “You have to _let me **go**_!” She wailed in despair.  
      
    The Elvenking’s face was sad but unyielding. He gathered her wrists in one hand and pulled her struggling body up with his other arm, carrying her towards the door out of the cavern.  
  
    “You’re _killing me_! I am going to _die_ down here in the dark! I hate you, _I hate you_!”  
  
    Rowan focused on the mental bond between them, and sent every ounce of her fear and anger towards him in a violent wave. At first it was like the shuddering impact of hitting solid ice, but then the dam broke. Somehow in that crash of their minds meeting, his emotions also flowed back towards her. Pain, loneliness, longing, obsession—centuries worth of each—slammed into her heart. Thranduil nearly stumbled, and instead brought them both to the ground, sitting down abruptly with Rowan spilled across his lap, both hands still in his grasp. He put his other arm across her back, holding her up. They were both breathing hard, as they tried to understand the emotional assault they had just received from each other. Rowan tugged at her imprisoned wrists and fought back tears of desperation. From what she had felt from her captor, clearly he had lost someone extremely important to him, love and grief inextricably linked in his mind. But she could not be a surrogate. It did not matter if the space in her soul that their bond currently occupied ached for the rest of her life. She needed to be free.  
      
    “I wish I knew how not to hurt you.” Thranduil sighed softly.  
      
    “Give me my freedom.” Rowan answered, voice cracking.  
      
    He bent down to brush his lips against her tear-stained cheek. “I need you to understand.”  
      
    Rowan prickled at his intimate gesture and his words. There were very few explanations in the world that could justify false imprisonment, but she let him continue anyway.  
      
    “It was several thousand years ago now, that I loved an elf-maiden…the circumstances were so different then, it is almost like thinking upon another lifetime.” His eyes were misted over with some long forgotten emotion.  
  
    “We lived in peace, for some time. We had a son. All was well until a great conflict in Middle Earth came upon us. After a long and terrible fight, I lost both her and my father to the ruin of war.” Thranduil closed his eyes, shuddering with the recollection of his pain and loss. A long moment stretched between them until he spoke again.  
  
    “Elves, even when they are struck down, do not die. Our essence is reembodied in the Undying Lands, to wait for our loved ones to cross the sea and join us. My former wife, however, refused this tradition. She had seen true violence in the souls of men, in elves, in my very own heart. In her horror at the deeds of the living, she forsook even our son and wished to linger in the Hall of Mandos as a spirit until the end of time.”  
  
    He pressed Rowan’s captured hands to where his heart currently beat furiously beneath the fresh wounds on his pale skin.  
  
    “I accepted that I would be alone the rest of my immortal life, never to rejoin my wife or remarry in this world or the next. But after thousands of years, suddenly, you were here...odd and lovely, visiting my sleeping mind, and then appearing on my doorstep burning with life and talking to _my_ forest.”  
      
    Rowan sat very still, unsure of what to say or do. Her heart ached for him, struggled to imagine the emotional burden of thousands of years of lost love and bitter remorse. All the same, this conversation was going a very different direction than what she was expecting. Thranduil seemed to think he could simply attain her as a panacea to his internal turmoil. She felt intensely uncomfortable under heat of his gaze. He still looked at her like a shiny thing he could put on a shelf. Rowan felt genuinely sorry that he had suffered so dearly in his long life, however, it was no excuse to take away hers.  
  
    “I’m not a bird you can lock away and hope it will sing for you.” Rowan kept her voice as firm as possible, and met his icy eyes without wavering. “Even if there is a reason that the trees brought us together, I cannot live like this. Without freedom I’ll fade away, and unlike an elf, I can’t come back.”  
  
    Thranduil slowly released her wrists from his hand, sad gaze unreadable. Rowan’s sigh of relief was cut short when he instead slid his arm down to lock around her waist. Tucking his chin over the top of her head, he drew Rowan’s slight figure even farther into his consuming embrace. His pale hair fell forward like a veil around them. The bond hummed all through their bodies, comforting warmth spreading out through their points of contract, as if it could ease the agony each side was in.  
      
    “Do not leave me, you strange, wild thing. _Please_ do not run from me, I cannot bear it.”  
      
    Thranduil’s fresh emotions swamped her, desire and despair swirled together with the sharp hunger of possessiveness. He would not, or could not hear her pleas. He was so lost in his own isolation and absolutism that he could no longer see the truth in front of him. The trees may have had the best intentions in binding their knight and their daughter together, but some wounds could not be healed, some damage could not be overcome. Like this, Thranduil could do nothing but slowly pull the life from her in a misguided attempt to protect her. She could rail against him, annoy him, plead with him, attempt to reason with him, and it would all come to naught. The only way out was to sever their bond irrevocably, and break his ancient heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It amuses me to no end that the Mirkwood elves get drunk enough to pass out. I just couldn't imagine that in Rivendell. Anyway, I hope this doesn't seem too OOC for Rowan. Despite everything, she can't help but be fascinated by and kind of care for Thranduil, so she's not...thrilled by the idea of making him relive like 3,000 years of emotional trauma.  
> Some more familiar faces will be arriving in chapter 10 ;) Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Title from the song by Lacuna Coil.


	10. Midnight City

_They leave us so to the way we took,_  
_As two in whom they were proved mistaken,_  
_That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,_  
_With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look,_  
_And try if we cannot feel forsaken._

  
Chapter Ten

  
    An air of sad acceptance fell over Rowan after that night behind the enchanted door. Not for the reason her anxious elven friends supposed, however. Rowan’s melancholy was not for her captivity, but rather that she had committed herself more seriously than ever to leaving. She knew that disappearing into the night would prevent her from ever seeing again those same friends who now worriedly hovered over her. Their elven lives were incomprehensibly long, and Rowan would likely be little more than a blink of the eye to them, but it hurt to think of departing from them for the rest of _her_ life. In the time that she’d spent in Mirkwood, she had grown more attached to them than she would have thought possible. As a person who had spent most of her twenty five years avoiding all complicated emotional relationships outside of her family, Rowan was in far over her head now. It made the decision to go all the more gut-wrenching, but it was one she could never turn back from. Under the open sky and far from the caverns, Beorn was waiting for her, in the home he had shared with her, just beyond the edge of the forest. And hopefully, somehow, her parents were still out there on Earth, across the ineffable veil of magic, waiting for her too.  
    The idea of causing true pain to Thranduil did not sit well in Rowan’s heart, either. Beyond what terrible damage pulling their bond apart might do, she did not want to add to the great hurts the world had already dealt him. It seemed wrong for someone so otherworldly to be so tightly bound by earthly suffering. She knew the Elvenking had to have noticed the change in her behavior. She rarely snuck out at night, she did not go out of her way to provoke him, she did as he requested— more or less. Rowan continued to walk the underground halls by herself, she trained in with the guards (who declared her skilled enough now not to accidentally cut off her own foot), she let herself be taken on impromptu adventures by Huoriel and Veryan. Yet, if Thranduil noticed a difference in his prisoner, he did not comment on it. He still sought out her presence several times a day, as was his custom, but he generally kept a chivalrous distance and made no real demands of her. Perhaps he assumed what the others had— she was coming to grips with her inescapable situation.  
    When not weighed down by dread and dour thoughts of future heartbreak, Rowan was usually plotting her best and most realistic options for escape. She had often considered revealing her trump card— turning into some smaller creature like a bird, and slipping out the main gate when it opened to let a patrol of guards in or out. The most serious complication to this was that she was never actually allowed in the antechamber that housed the great doors themselves. So to gain access, she would have to sneak off, transform secretly in some other part of the caverns, go unnoticed into that room, wait in secret for the next time the outer door opened, and then finally slip past out into the woods. Provided everything went well, it _could_ work… if no one found her or shot at her, and Thranduil didn’t sense her location by using their shared bond. It might backfire horribly in several ways, but Rowan was not sure what options were left as the days passed and her anxiety mounted.  
  
    By a stoke of luck, everything changed the day new prisoners were brought to the hall of the Elvenking.  
  
    At first, it was just one. Early that morning, a thread of excitement was in the air as elves coming in from patrol bustled about, and Rowan was unceremoniously handed off to a guard and pushed out of the central hall. The dusky haired soldier smiled at her sympathetically as he dropped her off at her room and into Eccaieth’s custody. Rowan was too preoccupied to be offended, though, for the wheels of her mind were spinning. Before she’d been spirited away, she saw him. A _dwarf_! For all the snide remarks she’d heard thrown about, which would have a person believing dwarves to be miniature cave trolls, he was really not so bad to look upon. Quite dirty and with a wild mane of hair to rival Beorn, but overall in appearance rather like an attractive human man of short and broad stature. In the brief moment that they’d occupied the same hallway, as he was being escorted in and she out, their eyes had met. His dark blue gaze caught her equally inquisitive gray one. She supposed she must have seemed as intriguing to him as he was to her. To an outsider she was just a strange young woman who was neither human nor elf, appearing to also be a prisoner of the King of Mirkwood. And then the moment passed, and the defiant dwarf went back to cursing at the forest guards in an odd, guttural language while being led away. Rowan couldn’t help but admire his spirit, and his obviously plentiful vocabulary of offensive language (which one could recognize in any tongue), though she winced for her elves when he landed a kick to their shins here and there.  
    Eccaieth had stubbornly refused to entertain discussion about the new guest, insisting it was not their business. Rowan was fairly certain it was _definitely_ her business. But for all her guardian’s valiant efforts, no polite conversation could hold back the inevitable, and it wasn’t much longer before more irritable mountain men followed the first.  
  
    In the afternoon of the following day, Rowan and Uiron were sitting in the library— the latter ostensibly teaching her to read elvish script, and the former blithely ignoring him in favor of asking endless questions about dwarves.  
      
    “But _why_ do you hate them? Do a lot of them live around here?”  
      
    “There are many reasons, thousands of years of them, why we do not trust those cursed creatures. Now will you _please_ just pay attention?”  
      
    “Don’t tout your immortality over me! What did he do that he’s got to be locked up here?”  
      
    “Rowan, _Lithôniel_ , the balance of power in these lands is more fragile than you think, those vagabond dwarves can’t just come through our kingdom without explanation…”  
      
    Rowan’s face lit up like a beacon at that revelation.  
      
    “There’s _more_ of them?”  
      
    Uiron sighed deeply and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Rowan eyed him suspiciously. One glance over his discernibly nervous posture told her that he knew what she wanted to know, but had no good news about it. She raised an eyebrow and waited for her friend to continue.  
      
    “I do not want you be upset with anyone…” He began diplomatically.  
  
    Rowan rolled her eyes, but apprehension had started to pool in the pit of her stomach.  
  
    “…But, yes, there are other dwarves in the halls. They were found wandering far from the road, and refuse to tell the king what business they have here.” Uiron finished.  
  
    “And how long are they going to be imprisoned? Why can’t I speak with them?”  
      
    “You know the king would never risk your safety, for all your determination to jeopardize it by yourself. It was decided that they be remanded to the dungeons…for the moment. Until they feel more forthcoming.”  
  
    “For _the moment_?” Rowan was absolutely livid at that, and she heard her voice rising with her piqued emotions.“And what is a moment to an elf? A hundred years?! And when does he propose to let them out? You can’t just…just lock _mortals_ away in the dark and throw away the key!”  
      
    Uiron looked genuinely hurt, and the wounded expression in his gray eyes tugged at Rowan’s heart, reminding her that he had personally done nothing wrong. She reached over and patted his shoulder while she grimaced in frustration.  
      
    “I’m sorry. I know this is why you didn’t want to tell me.” Her expression darkened. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have one very _specific_ person to be upset with.”  
      
    Uiron tried to voice his ardent disapproval, but Rowan had already leapt from her seat, planted an airy kiss on the crown of his ebony head, and run for the door. She turned and disappeared into the darkness of a smaller hallway on nimble feet before her friend could even shout after her.  
  
    Rowan kept a furious pace as she ascended into the higher levels, blue skirts of her dress swishing around her legs, letting her frustration with the Elvenking simmer inside her with her bitter thoughts. Was this how he treated all foolish mortals that dared to trespass into _his_ forest? Was she just barely special enough to not be locked up in the dungeons as well? Rowan laughed to herself darkly at the thought of telling the self-important elven monarch that the forest had simply called him its _“knight”_ , rather than its _king_. That ought to nettle him, she considered as she charged down the hallways.  
    It was curiously quiet when Rowan reached the throne room. The guards looked surprised to see her, but allowed her to enter all the same. After a cursory glance, it became immediately obvious that Thranduil’s luminous presence was not within. The chamber was lofty, left in many places to its natural state. Towering pillars flanked an elevated walkway and platform, upon which petitioners to the Mirkwood’s crown ruler generally stood. At the center of this stage was the throne of the Elvenking, raised even higher up on an outcropping of stone and a massive tree root. It couldn’t rightly be called a _chair_ , as it was truly a grand spectacle of twisting branches and massive elk antlers, meant to enhance Thranduil’s already naturally overwhelming presence. Rowan cautiously padded across the cold stone floor on her slippered feet, lightly ascending the rough steps up to the imposing seat. Thranduil would be back eventually, and she was patient enough to wait for him. If he was annoyed by her usurpation of his throne, all the better.  
    As she curiously settled her slight weight onto it, the sheer _largeness_ of the entire affair stuck her again. Even amongst elves, the King of Mirkwood was of a tall stature, and unlike her, he had just enough breadth to him that he did not seem willowy or delicate in the slightest. When occupied by him, the throne of antlers and living trees and was truly a tool of power, magnifying his inhuman radiance. Rowan, on the other hand, was dwarfed rather than enhanced by its size, and felt rather like a tiny bird in a large nest of twigs and bones. Still, she did her best to compose her limbs in a graceful sprawl, straightening her back and tilting her head back to look down her nose at the room with an imperious eye. A fair imitation of Thranduil, if she said so herself. One of her silk flats slipped off of a dangling foot and plopped to the ground. Well, not every one could be _so_ perfect.  
      
    “I think the impression might be more believable with both shoes on.”  
  
    Rowan nearly toppled from her perch.  
      
    Thranduil, in all his kingly state, was some distance below, slowly ascending the winding walkway to the platform his throne rested upon. A dark eyebrow arched slightly as he regarded her, betraying his amusement in an otherwise frosty countenance. Rowan was bravely trying to recover her facade of hauteur despite having lost a slipper and nearly fallen out of the seat she stole. Now that he was nearer to her, she could feel the slight change in the air and the buzzing against her skin that she was so accustomed to. Normally that would have alerted her to his presence before anything else, unless he had picked up on the same trick that she had— that with concentration, the effect could be temporarily mitigated.  
      
    Lightly flipping a lock of red hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand, Rowan huffed. “I prefer to be barefoot anyway.”  
      
    Thranduil, having nearly climbed the last step up the throne’s rocky tower, gave her wry smile as he carefully leaned down to pick up her fallen shoe. “I think you prefer to vex me whenever possible.”  
      
    “Who says I can’t do both?”  
  
    Thranduil snorted, and before Rowan could protest, reached forward to grab her exposed ankle, shackling it in his iron grip as he slid the errant slipper back onto her bare foot. Rowan fought her instinctual reaction to flinch away, determined not to show weakness. The flood of energy that raced between them at simple touch of their bare skin made her head spin. It never seemed to get any easier with time, the way their individual essences— _fëa_ or _fëar_ Thranduil called them— raced across their intangible connection whenever in proximity. When Thranduil finally reliquinshed his grasp and raised himself up again to his full height, Rowan released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Looming over her in his flowing robes and jagged crown, the Elvenking was still incredibly intimidating, to say the least. But she could still think more clearly when they weren’t touching.

    Rowan squared her shoulders and met his gaze.  
      
    “Why are you holding the dwarves prisoner?”  
      
    The slightest grimace passed over Thranduil's expression but he soon recovered his self-possessed smirk. He bent down to bring his face within inches of hers, and placed his hands and either armrest of the throne. “Because this is my realm and anyone within it is answerable to me.”  
      
    “Well, since you insist on kidnapping _so_ many people, why can’t I talk to them?” Rowan leaned away from him slightly, uncomfortable with the way his posture caging her in.  
  
    “They are brutish, violent creatures and I can not have you learning any more bad habits than you already have.”  
      
     “My habits are _not_ under your realm of authority.”  She had to fight the urge to outright growl at him. Rowan breathed in deeply and tried to bite back her temper. Moving a few inches farther back, she tucked her legs to one side and crossed her arms, chin held high and back rigid. She gave him an appraising look. “I think you just don’t respect anyone without pointy ears and an infinite lifespan.”  
  
    She expected the remark to chafe at his annoyingly unperturbed demeanor, but instead, his expression softened. Thranduil leaned closer over her, his silver curtain of hair slipping forward to gently brush Rowan’s shoulder. Those usually cold blue eyes gazed down at her with some emotion shimmering in them almost like sympathy, and he lightly caught the side of her face with his long fingers. Her heart pattered nervously in her chest, but she didn’t try to move, knowing that the deceptively delicate touch would be unyielding as ever.  
      
    “ _Riressil_ , what makes you so certain that you are a mortal?”  
      
    For a second, Rowan’s blood ran cold at his question. _Of course_ she was mortal…wasn’t she? She had aged just as quickly as the humans around her, more or less, and she certainly didn’t have pointy ears or literally glowing skin. She was more akin to Beorn, than to an elf. Thranduil was just trying to provoke her. Rowan shook her head in agitation, pushing his hand away from her face. He sighed and let her, still regarding her with a sad sort of pity that was only making her feel more frustrated.  
      
    “Don’t say that. I’m nothing like…any of you. Obviously I’m mortal!” Rowan shot him a defiant look. “You’re just deflecting because you don’t have a good reason for keeping lost people prisoner here.”  
      
    “I don’t need a reason, I am the king.” Thranduil retorted, stubbornly refusing to be baited.  
  
    She gritted her teeth and eyed the space around them. The royal elf with no respect for her personal space was blocking the path directly in front of her, down the narrow stairway to the chamber floor below. In a swift movement, Rowan drew herself up into a crouch, and with a powerful thrust of her legs, vaulted over the side of the towering throne. Her dress fluttered around her as she righted herself mid-air, landing catlike on her hands and feet. Rowan straightened up and brushed off her skirt, looking up reproachfully at Elvenking, who was still frozen in surprise.  
      
    “Sooner or later, I’ll run into them. Unless you want to speed things up and throw me in the dungeon too.”    
      
    “Rowan, you are being melodramatic—“  
      
    She huffed, ignoring Thranduil as she turned and stalked off towards the door, grumbling to herself as she passed two very confused guards.  
    Rowan wandered the halls aimlessly for some time, stomping her feet against the walkways with pent up frustration. She didn’t have any direction in mind, there was no way she could just charge down to the dungeons and demand to be granted access, and she didn’t feel like hurting the feelings of any unsuspecting elves with her foul mood. Eventually, her pace slowed and her footsteps became quieter as tiredness overcame her anger. Vaguely upwards Rowan strolled, until she found one of her favorite quiet nooks, high up in the lofty reaches of one of the largest caverns. From here, she could shimmy over to a ledge and look out over the twinkling lights and meandering elves of the underground city. Rowan sighed and flopped down on the rocky outlook, arranging the impractically long skirt of her dress around herself as she let her legs hang precariously off the edge of the steep drop. She leaned back on her arms, eyes traveling up to the glittering stalactites of the vaulted ceiling.  
    Just as her mind slipped back to thoughts of how she might sneak down to the dungeons that night, a noise caught her attention. It was barely audible, the softest sigh of fabric moving against stone. Rowan whipped her head around towards the source, examining the darkness of the recessed alcove behind her. Only empty air greeted her. She sharpened her vision, shifting her eyes to see in the darkness as slitted pupils formed and dilated. The inky blackness of the shadows gave way to a softer gray, but no living form came into view, just decorative pillars and unlit hanging lamps. Focusing her ears, no further sound could be revealed either. Rowan was just about to turn back, when she saw it. There, behind a column, one of the deeper shadows cast across the floor moved ever so slightly.  
      
    “Hello?” She called tentatively. It was unlike the elves to play at hide-and-seek, and as elusive as they were, they weren’t actually invisible if you knew where to look. “…I know someone is there.”  
      
    For a long moment, nothing stirred. Then, like a ghost, a small figure emerged from behind the stone pillar. He was barefoot but otherwise clothed in dusty, well worn travel clothes. As the man nervously shuffled closer to her, she could see that his hair and eyes were a warm brown. Were it not for the pleasantly middle-aged hint of laugh lines and and crow’s feet in his face, his height might have led Rowan to think him a human child.  
      
    “I…ah, didn’t mean to intrude, miss.” He stooped into a low bow, and when his hair fell forward, she could see that his ears were short and slightly pointed. “My name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins.”  
      
    Rowan blinked in surprise. He was extremely forthright for a person who just randomly appeared out of the shadows. She pulled herself off of the ledge and tilted her head as she regarded him curiously. “I’m Rowan.”  
      
    Bilbo blushed at that. “Er, I know. I sort of…overhead your conversation with the king.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.  
      
    “Oh! You must be even quieter than I thought.” It was no easy feat to sneak past elves. “Did you come here with the dwarves, then?’  
  
    “You could say that. They’re my friends, we were…traveling together. We got lost in the forest and they were captured.”  
      
    Rowan nodded, Uiron had accidentally admitted to as much. It thrilled her to know that the overbearing Elvenking had unwittingly missed one prisoner. “I suppose you could say the same thing happened to me. I got lost very…far from home and for a long time I stayed with Beorn, a man living just outside the forest. One night, we got separated. The elves found me.”  
     How could she even begin to explain the rest? _“Oh, and somehow the spirit of the forest metaphysically married my soul to Thranduil’s”_ somehow didn’t seem like a great party line.  
      
    “Beorn?” Bilbo’s face lit up at the name. “We met him as well!”  
      
    “You saw him?! How is he?” Rowan’s heart leapt into her throat.  
      
    “He seemed well enough… a bit scary though, nearly ate the lot of us at first. But he was a fine host after that! I’ve never had such delightful honeycakes!”  
      
    Rowan couldn’t help but smile. That sounded like her friend, both fearsome and gentle like a summer thunderstorm. A warm wave of relief went through her, knowing for certain that he was more or less unharmed.  
  
    “Are you…like him?” Bilbo queried, nervously avoiding her eyes.  
      
    Rowan reached up and hesitantly touched her face, reminding herself that she was still seeing in the grayed out night vision of an animal. She supposed that she must look quite a fright in the darkness, her eyes reflecting light in an iridescent green glow. “Oh! Ah, yes, sort of. We’re both skin changers, in our own ways.”  
      
    “I’ve seen so many things since I left home, I’m not sure how I should be surprised anymore.” He grinned sheepishly.  
  
    “Trust me, I feel the same way.”  
  
    As the night went on, Bilbo happily answered all of Rowan’s questions about his home, a peaceful community called the Shire, many miles west from where they were now. He didn’t seem to wish to speak on the reason why he and his dwarven friends had trespassed in the forest, so she didn’t press the issue. Rowan was content to hear of his race of ‘hobbits’, and their beautiful homes built under the rolling green hills of their country. They sounded very human, really, preferring the comforts of family and home to swords and sorcery. Perhaps less romantically sentimental than her own flower child family, or the elves, but overall they seemed to be a lovely people. Bilbo himself had an abundance of affable charm, polite but with an easy manner that immediately gave Rowan a fondness towards her curious new friend. He told her a bit of the race of dwarves, as well. Their culture was an entirely new perspective on this world she that had seen so little of. They were certainly not much at all like the people she grew up with, except in their love of food and singing. But still, Rowan found Bilbo’s description of the dwarves’ industrious and hard-working nature admirable. Over lofty trees and green fields, they instead valued deep, glittering caves streaked with deposits of ore. The earth all around them was just as comforting as the open sky was to her.  
    Rowan found the time passed quickly and pleasantly, even as she in turn told Bilbo of the mountains and forests of her far away home. At times, her voice grew hoarse with emotion and she found it difficult to put into words how terribly she missed Foxglove and Orpheus. How much she missed their eclectic trailer and her own snug bed surrounded by pictures of space. The longing in her heart for freedom, the sun above her and grass beneath her feet.  
      
    Bilbo sympathetically patted her shoulder with a small hand when she finished speaking.  
      
    “I guess I’m not much of a skin changer if I can’t even figure out how to leave a stupid cave.” Rowan admitted sullenly. It felt a bit strange to be comforted by a mysterious hobbit she’d only just met, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway.  
      
    “Since I’ve already got a whole gaggle of dwarves needing a rescue, why don’t you come with us?”  
      
    She looked up at him in surprise. “You’d trust me enough to do that?”  
      
    Bilbo shrugged. “Even if we’re homebodies and stubborn at times, hobbits know good people when they see them.”  
      
    Rowan felt tears well up in her eyes again, for an entirely different reason. She gave the halfling a grateful smile. “Well, I hope you’re as sneaky as you say you are, because I’m not sure how we’ll slip a small army from under Thranduil’s nose.”  
      
    He winked. “My lady, I am nothing if not resourceful.”  
  
    Despite the realistic hopelessness of their situation, Rowan couldn’t help but feel her spirits lift at his determination. She had been full of that same fire when she first woke up in Middle Earth, all those months ago. So very much had changed since then. She had arrived knowing next to nothing of the outside world on Earth, much less Arda. In almost six months, she’d met more people than she had in the entirety of her previous twenty five years. Many of those new faces she now held unexpectedly dear to her heart. Slowly, Rowan had also become stronger— learning to take life when necessary, learning that dangers beyond her imagining lurked out there in the darkness, learning that she had to make hard choices to protect her loved ones against them. The mystery of her origin still confounded her, as did her connection to Thranduil and Mirkwood forest, but she was far closer to an answer than she was before. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Rowan had yet to decide. What she did know, however, was that the little adventurer beside her now was offering her a better chance at escape than she’d had in the weeks prior.  
    They sat together on the stone ledge for a long while, overlooking the vast cavern. Rowan told Bilbo everything she had learned of the caves’ sprawling layout, how the rotating shifts of guards functioned, what half-baked escape plans she’d already considered. The hobbit tried to hide it, but she could see him eyeing the marvels of the resplendent underground city below them with admiration. That, Rowan could keenly sympathize with. It had taken her weeks to just get used to seeing such wondrous architecture all around her. The Halls of the Elvenking made for such a beautiful cage, that for brief moments one could forget it was a prison at all.  
  
    They had lasped into silence for a few minutes, when Bilbo coughed and then fidgeted nervously as he side-eyed Rowan. She turned her head and raised an eyebrow.  
  
     “So…I was just wondering, really…how does it work? Being a skin changer? Just… a bit of magic and you’re an animal?” He asked, curiosity burning bright in his brown eyes.  
  
    Rowan stared at him for a moment, then broke into a fit of giggles.  
  
    Bilbo blushed. “I, ah, I never saw it happen with Beorn, but y’know he’s so…big already. It’s not hard to imagine with a fellow already as fuzzy as him.” He explained quickly.  
      
    Rowan tried her hardest to suppress her snickering. The halfling wasn’t wrong, Beorn already looked halfway a bear, even when wearing clothes and walking on two legs. But, there wasn’t an effective way for her to explain something that she understood so little herself. She shrugged noncommittally in response to his question as she regained her composure.  
      
    “I suppose it’s like…wiggling your ears or twitching you nose? It’s just like a muscle that you know you can flex when you want to.” Rowan offered.  
      
    Bilbo nodded seriously, trying to take her words to heart. His face brightened as an idea came to him.  
      
    “Can you show me?” The hobbit whispered in hopeful wonder.      
      
    She blinked at him owlishly for a moment, somewhat stunned by the question. No one had just asked her before, but she hadn’t made a habit of telling anyone outright, so there hadn’t exactly been an opportunity to…show off. Rowan eyed Bilbo, feeling that his curiosity was sincere. Who knew, maybe understanding her shapeshifting would help him think of an escape plan? A _little_ fun could hurt, could it?  
      
    Rowan nodded in assent. “I don’t see why not.”  
      
    She scooted back and stood up fully, as Bilbo smiled widely in excitement. When nothing else happened, he just stared at her blankly.  
      
    “You, ah, have to turn around…or something. Avert your eyes.” Half of middle earth had probably seen her naked at this point, but she’d hate to offend her new friend by adding hobbits to the list.  
      
    “Oh… _oh!_ Of course!” Bilbo flushed and made a great show of turning back to face the depths below, and as a further measure, pressed a hand over his eyes.  
      
    Rowan chuckled and started fumbling with the laces of the bodice against her back. With a determined yank, her overdress slid off, pooling around her feet. The lightweight chemise took but a thought to toss over her head. Rowan was left standing naked and unfazed, hidden hundreds of feet up above the elven city, with a hobbit trying extremely hard not to accidentally look at her. She didn’t flatter herself to think that it had anything to do with interest in her, sometimes it just amused Rowan to no end to poke fun at people’s delicate sensibilities. The air was just a bit too cold, however, to draw it out, so she closed her eyes and mentally dove into the balmy waters of the magic that always flowed just under her skin. It embraced her, softly and perfectly like a well-worn piece of clothing, gently spreading out over every cell of her body. Glowing outside and inside of her, embracing the power felt like a deep stretch after a long sleep. It had been some time since Rowan had truly changed shape. She’d done so here and there, ever since her leg had healed (primarily to annoy Thranduil), but most of the time without an outlet it proved more of an inconvenience than anything. She opened her big brown eyes, and gave her spotted head a shake. In the graceful body of a snow leopard, she moved to smoothly circle the alcove, meeting the surprised expression of the hobbit as she nudged his shoulder with her nose.  
  
    “…By the stars! Just like that!” Bilbo whispered in awe, gently touching a small but roughened hand to the soft, mottled fur of her broad head. Rowan butted her muzzle against his palm obligingly.  
  
    “When I thought I’d seen all the strangest things in heaven and Middle Earth…a fair maiden turns into a wild cat.” He remarked, grinning at her teasingly. In response, she checked his shoulder again with a casual bump of her head.  
      
    The inquisitive halfling continued to carefully pat her head and back, and sometimes pulled on her ears and tail, which made her growl tersely in warning. But overall Rowan tolerated it in good humor, amused by the fact he couldn’t believe it was actually her under all that fur and muscle. He really was like a child in his unabashed excitement. Rowan had never been so forthcoming about her ability in all her life, and the unexpected feeling acceptance was rather nice.  
    Eventually, she let out a rumbling, very toothy yawn. The hour had grown quite late. Bilbo nodded in silent agreement, apparently sharing her sentiment. He stood and attempted to brush off his awfully ragged garments.  
  
    “I’ll find you soon, as quick as I can think of anything that might be of use.”  
      
    Rowan rumbled a purr and blinked slowly in understanding. With a half-bow and a wink, he was gone, quietly skipping away on his bare feet down the narrow passageway and then suddenly disappearing from her view. He was a very mysterious little man indeed, Rowan considered as she stared at the empty shadows where Bilbo had just been.  
     A moment later, she followed his steps down the roughly hewn hallway, loping along the connecting pathways on her nearly silent paws. She didn’t feel inclined to revert back to her humanoid form, and relished the easy power of being a four legged predator. Her body was tired but her mind was still buzzing with excitement over the new ally she’d just made. Something in her did not feel like returning to the rooms of royal apartment that put her so close to Thranduil. That chamber was her first prison, closing in on her from all sides while she had been injured, and she could not think properly while so close to the imperious elf she was unwillingly bonded to. Rowan wanted to relish this feeling of hope, burning just brightly enough to free of her dark thoughts for the night.  
    Remembering the soldier’s barracks were not so far away, Rowan made her way over that direction in the most catlike way she could, scaling the massive tree roots and leaping between pathways. More than one elf keeping watch was given quite a scare, before realizing it was just their king’s wayward guest. By the time she reached the doors to where the female guards slept, her nervous energy had given way to hazy sleepiness. She bumped her leopard head against the door, rubbing a cheek there for a moment, then turning to look at the guard on duty with doleful eyes. The elf quietly snorted a laugh, raising her eyebrows as she turned the door handle and let Rowan in. Once admitted, the cat casually strolled through the rows of bunks, grey and white body slinking side to side with her casual gait. It was quiet and dimly lit in the room, most beds held sleeping occupants and in a few others quietly murmuring elf maidens sat awake discussing the days events with each other. Rowan allowed herself to be petted on occasionally by doting elves she passed, but continued to sniff here and there until she found the pallet she was was looking for, sadly empty of its owner.  
    Huoriel’s rain and wildflower scent softly permeated everything as Rowan hopped up and nosed the blanket aside with her muzzle. Tiredness had seeped into every one of her sleek muscles. She turned about three times in a circle, then laid down and curled inward, drifting to sleep within the comforting presence of her absent friend.  
    Rowan wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt a gentle hand shake her now bare shoulder. She blinked her gray eyes in the dark. Only one lamp was still lit, off by the door, but its soft glow pierced her brain like tiny daggers. Groaning in agony, she rolled over to face her highly amused friend.  
      
    “I am not sure how I should to respond to finding my friend naked in my bed as soon as I come back from patrol…but I must insist, if you are going to have a party, you _ought_ to invite me.” Huoriel winked.  
      
    “Dunno if you’d like it….you’d have to wear a lot of fur….” Rowan managed to get out before hiding her head back under the blanket.  
      
    “I suppose nothing should surprise me anymore when it come to you, little tree.”  
      
    Rowan grunted in agreement from underneath the cover.  
      
    Huoriel chuckled tiredly and Rowan listened as she puttered about preparing for bed. She pulled off her dusty guard’s uniform, hung up her leather belt of pouches, and set her swords against the wall with a dull thunk. Dressed simply leggings and a white cotton undershirt, with her chestnut mane unbraided, the elf maiden slipped beneath the blanket to join her friend. They eventually settled in a comfortable position, heads laid side by side on the pillow, long legs tangled together underneath the sheets. It was simple and blissful to just be so _close_ to someone, without assumption, without expectation. Their hearts slowly beat in tandem with their breathing and Rowan found her headache dissipating with the comforting sensation. She had never truly had a female friend before, besides her adoptive mother. And yet here in Middle Earth, in an enchanted forest, she’d met one of kindest, loveliest creatures in the world. Rowan fondly regarded the subtly angled features of Huoriel’s luminous face and how her dark, almond shaped eyes still sparkled no matter now little light there was in the room. The elf offered her a comforting little smile and Rowan felt her heart twist.  
    In such a comparatively short time, the lighthearted warrior had become so very dear to her, along with charming Veryan, scholarly Uiron, and wise Falathiel. All the elves of Mirkwood, really, had in some way become cherished by Rowan, as they had indulged her mischief and odd behaviors and endless questioning. Even Thranduil, ever maddening and unreasonable, but always enthralling, had somehow found a very confused place of affection in her heart. It was for that feeling, though, and his singular pattern of thinking, that Rowan had to leave. It was so easy to lose oneself to waiting and wishing for things to change, but she knew, in her rational thoughts, that they would not. She couldn’t remain here and somehow convince him to give her freedom to run under the trees with his guards, as that would never happen so long as he regarded her as a thing to be kept and not a person to be cherished. She still had to break his heart, and in the process, her own.  
      
    “Oh! But why are you crying dear one?” Huoriel was peering at her anxiously.  
      
    Rowan snuffled and wiped at the tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Do you….do you think that, even though I’m just a little blink compared to your life, do you think you’ll remember me?” She swallowed down the other tears that threatened to come out and gave Huoriel a watery smile. “I’ll remember you my whole life, even if that’s just an afternoon to an elf.”  
      
    Huoriel’s face softened, and she gently took Rowan’s hand in hers. “Oh, _mellon-nin_ , I would remember you always, even if I had only known you for that one day that you appeared naked and surrounded by niphredil.”  The elf promised, with a teasing wink.  
      
    Rowan giggled helplessly until that turned into a few choked sobs, and so she just let Huoriel pat her back soothingly until finally sleep took them both for a few more hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay! Things just got away from me this month. For some reason I also really struggled writing this one, so I hope the result isn't too forced. I have a clear idea of where I'm going but sometimes connecting those points proves more difficult than expected. Anyway, I've already started the next chapter, so I should be able to update much more quickly next time.  
> Thank you so much for continuing to read this! Your comments and kudos are greatly, greatly appreciated~
> 
> Title is from the song by M83


	11. I'll Fall With Your Knife

  
_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_  
_But I have promises to keep,_  
_And miles to go before I sleep,_  
_And miles to go before I sleep._

  
  
**Chapter Eleven**

  
    They emerged from the barracks early the next morning, with Huoriel annoyingly radiant and bright, and Rowan groggily rubbing her eyes and combing her fingers through her wild hair as she trailed behind. As she tugged at the knots, she wondered bitterly why she had decided letting it get longer than her hips was ever a good idea. Much to her chagrin, elves never seemed to need to get tangles or split ends. In light of her clothing situation (or lack thereof), two of the female soldiers of the woodland army had generously lent their friend a pair of hunter green leggings and a matching tunic. Though the garments had come from the slightest figures in the guard, they were still made for elves, and so the tunic was just slightly too long and the leggings were a bit baggy in the ankles. Rowan, however, was so thrilled to be wearing pants again she was far too grateful to think on how she looked in them. It almost made up for the infernally early hour she had been woken up at.  
      
    “I must report to my station now. I think Eccaieth is probably most anxious to see you.” Huoriel advised, giving Rowan a knowing look as they passed into a central hallway.  
      
    The red-haired skinchanger yawned. “You’re probably right. But, I have to go defend my honor first.”  
  
    “Oh?”  
      
    “Yes, you see Veryan has the distinct advantage of not being in a dress when we train. Today I intend to best that smirking know-it-all.”  
      
    The elf maiden snorted delicately, and then tried to cover it with a cough when Rowan glared at her. “You forget that, despite his immaturity, he is many, _many_ times your age. Veryan has simply had more time to practice than you, skirt or not.”  
      
    Rowan shrugged in acknowledgement, blithely ignoring the advice as she pretended to parry and thrust with an invisible sword while they walked.  
      
    Pinching the bridge of her slender nose, Huoriel sighed. “You two deserve each other.’  
      
    “I’ve seen you drink, my friend! Don’t act so high and mighty.” Rowan ceased the attacks against her make-believe foe and grinned cheekily at her companion.  
      
    “Hmm, but friends keep each others secrets, do they not?” Huoriel winked. “Speaking of wine, will I see you at the feast tonight?”  
  
    It took Rowan a second to recall what her friend was talking about. Elves had a truly inordinate amount of parties.  
      
    “Ah…I suppose so. My social calendar _is_ quite busy these days. What are you guys celebrating this time?”  
      
    “The time of year when the day and night are of equal length begins tomorrow. Soon the nights will be longer, and colder. We celebrate the equilibrium of the seasons.”  
      
    Rowan froze. It was the autumn equinox _already_? Had six months truly passed since she’d been dragged into Middle Earth? She wondered what age that would make her, being that on Earth her birthday tended to coincide with the equinox, and she had seemingly jumped forward six months by whatever magic pulled her here to begin with. If she managed to get home, would she go backwards six months instead?  
      
    Realizing she still hadn’t replied, she cleared her throat and smiled reassuringly at Huoriel, who was eyeing her worriedly. “Well you know me, any chance to see immortal beings engage in a drinking contest is not one to be wasted.”  
  
    The elf let out a melodic laugh and clasped Rowan’s shoulder. They had reached a split in the walkway. Rowan gave Huoriel a little wave as she headed towards the training grounds, and her friend towards the guard’s post.  
  
  
   _“Ooof!”_  
      
    The air was forced from her lungs as Rowan was knocked to the ground for an eighth time. Gasping, she lay on her back and stared at the twinkling lights of the cavernous ceiling until the black dots in her vision faded away. Eventually, Rowan struggled into a sitting position, legs inelegantly sprawled out in front of her, while her instructor beamed down at her with a victorious grin.  
  
    Veryan carded a hand through his deep brown locks, pushing them away from his face as he sheathed his sword and extended the other hand to help up the grumbling shapeshifter.  “You really are improving, little one! Soon you might actually land a blow on me!”  
  
    Rowan stuck her tongue out at him impudently, but took his proffered hand. As soon as his fingers firmly gripped hers, she gave his arm a determined _yank_ , throwing off his balance just enough that she could strike out with her leg to sweep his weight-bearing foot out from underneath him. The surprised expression on Veryan’s handsome face as he landed on the ground beside her was reward enough to make Rowan forgive him for doing the same to her eight times in a row.  
      
    “My lady, such a cheap trick! Who knew one so small could be so cutthroat!” Veryan pressed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, as he gracefully folded himself into a sitting position.  
  
    Rowan elbowed him in the side. “I’m not small, you elves are just obnoxiously large. Many humans would actually call me tall, for a girl.”  
      
    Veryan raised an eyebrow in disbelief.  
      
    She huffed. “Well, enjoy the view from your high horse, spider-bait.”  
      
    He just chuckled and ruffled her already hopelessly messy hair, which she’d hastily piled on her head in a bun.  
      
    “Is Eccaieth not going to be looking for you, anyway? It is her duty, after all, to make you look like a lady and not some wild-eyed woodland dryad.”  
      
    Rowan noted that he specifically maneuvered around mentioning a certain overbearing monarch’s wrath. In fact, he and Huoriel mentioned Thranduil as little as possible in conversation. Regardless, he was correct about Eccaieth, they had already spent several hours in the training grounds immersed in sparring practice. Rowan sighed and hopped to her feet, wincing just a little at the soreness in her limbs and back from being thrown to the floor so many times. She didn’t make a fuss of it, though, not wanting to dissuade Veryan from practicing with her again, for whatever she had left in the caverns. The sudden realization that she might disappear sometime in the near future took Rowan by surprise. Her heart clenched as she looked down at her indulgent teacher. This was the cost of growing attached. _You knew this was going to happen_ she scolded herself, but the pain did not lessen.  
      
    “You’re right.” She replied hoarsely, coughing to clear her throat. Rowan offered her training sword back to him. “I’d better go so I don’t frighten anyone away from their wine tonight.”  
      
    Veryan looked for a moment as though he might question her change of mood, but he seemed to let it go as he took back the dull practice blade and smiled at her.  
      
    “Until tonight then, _gwennig_.”  
      
    She rolled her eyes at him one last time as she turned to leave. Rowan was beginning to understand _just_ enough Elvish now to know he’d called her little yet again. She slowly made her way out of the long cavern that housed the training grounds, not in any real rush to submit herself to being dressed up for yet another party. Drinking only appealed to her when in the company of her friends, and she still wasn’t fond of being stared at. Honestly, the last feast had ended in enough of a fiasco for her to be quite done with Elven celebrations for some time. Not many guards were left lingering about as Rowan walked, it seemed those not on duty that night were far more excited to prepare than she was. Despite dragging her feet, she made it back to the wing that housed the royal apartments sooner than she’d have liked. She was just about to turn a corner towards the main door, when a noise from an alcove caught her attention.  
      
     _“Psst!”_  
      
    Rowan peered curiously into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything moving there, but she thought she could just faintly detect the sound of breathing. Looking over her shoulder, she quickly side-stepped into the recessed corner. As soon as Rowan was safely crouched down in the secrecy of the shadows, Bilbo suddenly appeared at her side, faster than she could blink. She pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a cry of surprise. Rowan didn’t feel any magic coming from his body the way she had with Beorn or Radagast or the elves, but clearly he possessed some form of it.  
  
    “You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She whispered.  
      
    “Sorry! I couldn’t just walk up to you in front of the guards.” Bilbo apologized. “But I have something to tell you!”  
      
    “Well, you’ve got my attention now.” Rowan remarked, anticipation fluttering in her stomach.  
          
    “I remembered some of the places you mentioned yesterday, as potential escape routes. So I went poking around. I was down by the cellar near the dungeon, when I found it!” Despite his hushed tone, the excitement was starting to bleed into his voice. “They have a trap door there, to bring the wine casks in and out. I believe it bottoms out into the underground river that goes to Laketown!”  
      
    Rowan’s mind was racing. She’d been down there a few times, but observed nothing of interest, so she hadn’t returned. To think that the whole time there was a secret door right underneath her nose! She was more grateful now than ever for her crafty new friend.  
      
    “You are a wonder, Mr. Baggins!” It was a struggle to keep her voice quiet, Rowan wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Can you be ready tonight? We may have a perfect window, or at least the very best we can get.”  
      
    Bilbo nodded seriously.  
      
    “This evening there will be a huge feast,” Rowan continued. “Elves take their celebrations very seriously. There won’t be many guards about, and most will have had more than enough to drink. I’m expected to be there, but once it gets late, they’ll be too tipsy to miss me.”  
      
    He nodded again. “Midnight, then? I’ll do my best to sneak the dwarves out of their cells and get them prepared to leave.”  
      
    “If I can’t get away, don’t worry about leaving me behind. I will find my own way out if I have too.” She added, hating the idea that Bilbo’s offer to help her would jeopardize everyone else’s freedom. She was absolutely determined that they won’t have to leave her, however.  
      
    “Let’s only hope for the best then, milady. I’ll see you at midnight.”  
          
    They clasped arms in farewell, and Rowan cautiously emerged from the shadows, back into the quiet hallway. Thankfully few people came this way even on a busy day, as it was strategically placed far from the traffic of the main passages. She had just placed her handle on the wrought-iron handle of the beautifully carved wooden door to Thranduil’s many chambers, when it opened from within. Eccaieth was standing there on the other side, dark blue eyes burning brightly with indignation. Though the elf was not more than a few inches taller than her, Rowan suddenly felt very intimated. Furious but ever lovely, ash-haired Eccaieth was already dressed for the evening, clad in an understated but effortlessly elegant gown made of goldenrod yellow satin. Her light brown locks were crowned with a circlet of ochre colored maple leaves.  
      
    “Where have you _been?_ We have no time for this!” Eccaieth sputtered, grabbing a contrite Rowan by the wrist and hauling her into the room.  
      
    “I’m sorry! I was with Veryan and I just got carried away…” Rowan whined apologetically as she was dragged bodily by the deceptively strong she-elf into her bedroom and then onto the washroom.  
      
    “You are _covered_ in dirt! And your _hair!”_ Eccaieth turned the faucet to allow the freezing water from the underground stream to flow into a basin.  
      
    About an hour later, after Rowan had accepted her punishment of being doused in cold water while Eccaieth berated her, she sat demurely on the edge of the bed, letting the aggrieved elf finish her work. Said elf was concentrated on briskly running a silver hair brush through Rowan’s long mane, which now thankfully less hopelessly matted, as she gathered it into sections and braided the top of it away from the redhead’s face. The rest was left loose, still slightly curling from dampness, spilling down her shoulders and back in russet waves. The faint cinnamon scent of bath oil lingered on the wet strands. Rowan stared down at her hands as Eccaieth relentlessly tugged at her scalp. Several gold rings with deep red stones now glittered on her slim fingers. Was she really going to try to escape in just a few hours? It seemed too surreal to believe fully. How many times in the past weeks had she sat exactly like this, as her well-intentioned companion insisted on fixing her hair and clothing? Everything before seemed like a distant lifetime— first her childhood on Earth, and then her time with Beorn. When she was once more free and in the open, would her time here seem like some hazy dream as well?  
      
    “This will have to do, I suppose.” Eccaieth announced, pushing lightly at Rowan’s shoulders.  
  
    She obligingly stood and walked over to the mirror that hung inside the door of her wardrobe cabinet. Seeing herself fully reflected there under the soft incandescent light of the lamp overhead, Rowan’s heart dropped into her stomach. If the evening of that feast a fortnight ago she had felt disoriented by her appearance, it was nothing compared to the stranger that stared back at her now. The bones and base of her were still present, reminding Rowan that no one else could possibly be looking back from that reflection. Yes, her height and narrow build, her angular face were the same…yet, somehow the rest of her was terribly different. Her facial features were sleeker, more inhuman, and her gray eyes glinted with a subtle sheen of silver. The waif-like, wiry angles of her body now seemed to be less jutting, composed more fluidly and elegantly, a sweeping willow compared to an awkward sapling. Her skin was still the same pale alabaster shade, but everywhere there was just the slightest _glimmer_ to it, as if her vast well of internal power was somehow starting to bleed through externally. The mostly human girl who had looked back at her six months ago, from the mirror above her dresser on the night of her twenty fifth birthday, was gone.  
    Eccaieth had done an admirable job composing an outfit for her, as always. A dress of gold silk, accented with an overlay of champagne chiffon, fit Rowan perfectly and fell to the floor in a shimmering cascade of fabric. The scooped neckline was low, baring her shoulders where the sleeves began as gathered puffs of silk, then fit snugly to her biceps before poofing out once more at the elbows and then encasing her forearms tightly to the wrist. The empire waist of the gown split to reveal a heavily embroidered underskirt, blood orange and crimson thread sewn in patterns of flower clusters and leaves. The braids in her hair that Eccaieth had woven secured an intricate golden circlet of tiny interlocking branches to the crown of her head. The top of Rowan’s mane being pulled back only exaggerated the unsettling changes in her face.  
    Ripping her eyes away from the disarming reflection, Rowan stepped back in shock. Not caring terribly one way or another about her appearance, she hadn’t actually seen herself in full view since the night she had snuck into the hidden room with Veryan and Huoriel. Had the powerful surge of magic that allowed her to communicate with the spirit of the forest that night somehow also irrevocably altered her, in the same way she had unwittingly transformed that poor little tree? If she had seemed odd to regular humans before, now she would most likely appear downright alarming. Elves were beautiful but she just looked… _alien_. A cold wave of fear blossomed in her chest. Was it even possible for her to return home, looking like this? Would her parents even know her?  
      
    Eccaieth touched Rowan’s shoulder gently, all her ire gone and replaced by concern. “Is everything well?” She asked softly.  
      
    Rowan rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “No, it’s…it’s fine, really. Thank you.” She turned to fully face the elf maiden. Freaking out over this would have to wait. Suddenly overcome by another emotion, she thew her arms around Eccaieth. Parting from her would be no easier than leaving any of her other friends. “Thank you for everything.”  
      
    “Of course, dear one, of course.” Eccaieth squeezed Rowan back, before letting go and holding her at arm’s length. “Now we _really_ do have to leave.”  
  
    Sighing deeply, trying to conquer the emotions swirling inside her, Rowan nodded mutely and followed her out of the room.  
      
    The enormous octagonal parlor was somehow completely filled by the magnificent presence of the Elvenking who stood at the center of it, waiting for them. He casually inclined his head towards them as soon as they entered the room, eyes immediately alighting on Rowan’s nervously fidgeting figure. Thranduil was truly dressed that night as the autumn forest personified. His usual robes of gray and silver had been replaced with burgundy velvet and red-gold silk. Down his sleeves, golden thread formed the intricate shapes of flora and fauna. An additional piece of metalwork had been added to the front of his woodland crown, fashioned to look like a sweeping pair of antlers as it rested against his forehead and reached up and back to lock together with the usual branches. Most breathtaking of all was the cape that hung from his broad shoulders, fastened by two large gold clasps in the shape of deer’s heads. The cloak began as a lighter blood orange tone and darkened to deep wine red as it trailed to the floor, with pieces of cloth interspersed with feathers sewn onto it in a textured gradient, densely at the shoulders then fading downward, making it seem as though the mantle were a living garment of autumn leaves.  
    The king’s eyes, made more vividly blue by the fiery contrast of his raiment, shimmered with earnest emotion as Thranduil looked directly at Rowan. She felt her heart flutter curiously in her ribcage, a strange feeling spreading soft and warm in her chest, as if the storm of all her other piqued emotions had suddenly disappeared under his admiring gaze. _Don’t you dare!_ she admonished herself. Thranduil had always been breathtakingly beautiful, alarmingly so, and there wasn’t anything different about that this night. Was there?  
    Eccaieth looked between the two of them and smiled, bowing low to excuse herself as she slipped from the room.  
      
    “ _Brennil vuin._ ” Thranduil sighed reverentially in his low, melodic cadence as he strode across the room to stand in front of Rowan. “You are as enchanting as stars themselves.”  
      
    When he took her hand in his much larger one, she suppressed a gasp. Through the surge electricity and satisfied _thrum_ of their bond, she could feel the honest sentiment of his adoration, however disarming it was. Did he notice the inhuman changes to her appearance as well? Rowan left wondering again what supernatural force had drawn this confounding elf to her. Was it just their mutual connection to Mirkwood and the forest spirit’s subsequent meddling that had hopelessly ensnared his attentions so? Under any other circumstances, she could not imagine such a terribly captivating being ever noticing her. It wasn’t false humility on Rowan’s part, it just seemed to be the way of things— elves simply existed above the infatuations of lesser beings. Perhaps it was just her luck then, that she’d started dreaming of the only exception the rule, and the one person in a position to have so endlessly complicated her life.  
      
    “… _Thiol vê._ ” Rowan muttered, looking away and blushing under the continuing intensity of the king’s pale blue stare.  
      
    A sly grin broke over his face. He tilted his silver head closer and arched a dark eyebrow. “So my appearance pleases you, then?”  
      
    “Don’t let it go to your over-inflated ego.” She huffed, determinedly not meeting his eyes.  
      
    Thranduil continued to beam smugly as he drew her nearer to him by their joined hands, leading them towards the door. “What was it you said to me once? _‘You’re the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen’_?”  
  
    Rowan’s cheeks burned brighter. She’d forgotten about that one, though be fair, she hadn’t quite been herself at the time. They fell in step together, his long legs maintaining a slower pace that was easier for her shorter ones to keep up with. The air shimmered just slightly all around, as their magical connection buzzed contentedly in between them, concentrating on where their hands linked. It was otherwise hushed, the halls held only the slightest echoes of laughter here and there. The presence of guards was notably lesser, as it was a time of peace and a night to celebrate. Eccaieth had mentioned that many elves chose to make merry above ground, with dancing and feasting circles held around bonfires in the forest. Rowan didn’t kid herself into thinking that Thranduil might be gracious enough allow her outside for this occasion, but longingly she wondered what that might be like. The only sound was their feet tapping against the stone floor, and the swish of their trailing garments.  
      
    “What do you think upon so intently?” Thranduil queried, disrupting the quiet.  
      
    “Oh, um, nothing.” Rowan glanced up at him, and wondered briefly if he could discern her thoughts with his piercing blue eyes alone. For some reason, she felt anxious to supply some kind of satisfactory answer, rather than baiting him into another argument. “…well, my birthday is tomorrow.”  
      
    “Birthday?”  
      
    She scrambled to think of what Uiron had told her about Elvish traditions. “My name-day?  
      
    Thranduil nodded in understanding, and drew her hand under the crook of his arm so that they walked closer together. “Why did you not mention it, _Riressil?_ I understand most mortals celebrate this day very seriously, on every cycle of the seasons.”  
      
    “I guess, compared to thousands of years, twenty-six didn’t seem very significant.” Rowan shrugged.  
      
    Her escort looked down at her quizzically. “Sometimes I forget how truly young you are.” He sighed. “Elves tend to celebrate based on our own cycle of the year, which would be one hundred forty four years to you. If this day is of importance, I would make arrangements for you.”  
      
    Rowan laughed lightly and made a dismissive gesture, though she was oddly touched by his offer. “It’s alright. I don’t need to compete with the equinox.”  
      
    Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement, and didn’t press the subject further, though Rowan had the distinct feeling the wheels in his head were still spinning. The doors to the Hall of Fire loomed up ahead of them. Towering many feet above than even Thranduil’s lofty height, the heavy double doors were fashioned from dark oak wood that had been carved to depict the mountains and vast leafy canopy of Mirkwood forest, with little details of animals hidden amongst the tree trunks. Two guards in full regalia— golden helmets, breastplates, and bracers— flanked the doorway. They nodded to their king and Rowan as they drew came closer, wordlessly turning to open the way for the pair. Light and sound immediately poured forth. If the hall had seemed decorated the last time she was there, it paled in comparison to the finery present now. The great fireplace was roaring with life, its mantle heavily swathed in garlands of leaves, berries, and silvery birch branches. Banners of brightly colored cloth hung wall-to-wall, warm fairy lights glittered from the ceiling. Every long wooden table was laden with food and elegant arrangements of autumn flora. Pine boughs were scattered across the floor, adding their sharp scent to the aroma of wood fires and cooking. Even the elven revelers themselves wore charming handmade crowns of fall foliage. A great clamor of musical voices rose and fell in a happy wave, as the citizens of Mirkwood laughed and sang.  
    The din quieted down significantly once the Elvenking’s presence was noted among them, but it was a silence of awe and respect rather than fear. He led Rowan to the elevated table on the dais once again, where Eccaieth and several other elves of note were already sitting on either side of the King’s chair and the two seats of honor flanking it. Rowan idly wondered who the other setting was intended for, as no one else had immediately claimed it this time, either. Thranduil still stubbornly insisted on pulling out her chair for her, and Rowan did her best to accept the gesture with as little ceremony as possible, arranging the skirts of her dress and pointedly not returning any of the inquisitive stares directed at her. Overall, she felt much calmer than she did the previous time. In light of the fact she would be attempting to make a grand escape in a few hours, being nervous about a party seemed fairly trivial. Satisfied that Rowan was properly settled, the King straightened up to his full height and turned to face out towards his subjects.  
  
     _“Tolo, mado, a hogo e-mereth!”_ Spending his arms wide, his deep voice rang out across the hall, beckoning the people within to begin their merriment in full.  
      
    The woodland elves happily did so, the tide of voices once again rising with cheers as the wine and food were diligently consumed. Rowan gazed out at them fondly, sweet but sad sentiment creeping in her heart at the sight of their beautiful faces smiling and singing. Eccaieth handed her a hammered metal chalice filled with dark purple wine. Rowan smiled in thanks and brought it to her lips, but only took the smallest sip. It wouldn’t do at all to get drunk and ruin her chance at freedom entirely. Down below in the crowd, she caught sight of Huoriel, Veryan, and Uiron seated together, and gave them a little wave when they turned to smile back at her. Falathiel didn’t seem to be around, so Rowan guessed she might be out in the woods for the night.  
    Once the majority of the food had been consumed and most everyone seemed to be on their fourth or fifth goblet of wine, several elves stood up with harps and flutes in hand. This was met with a greet cheer from the thoroughly tipsy assembly, who then quieted down as the impromptu minstrels began to harmonize together in a joyful melody. The words to the song were in a dialect Rowan had trouble following with her limited understanding of Elvish, but she could decipher words here and there, to get the gist that they were telling a tale in praise of the Valar, in gratitude for the gifts given to them this season. Before long, people had begun abandoning their drinking for the diversion of dancing. Well, some gave up their glasses, but a few dedicated others seemed determined to spin about and drink at the same time. The dancing wasn’t formal or organized, but rather seemed to be spontaneous and naturally elegant movements attuned with the rise and fall of the music. It was a wondrous thing to watch, the effortless fluidity and grace of the elves on full display. Awash in the music, twinkling lights, and swirl of dancers, Rowan could believe the folktales on earth about humans wandering into fairy circles and falling into an enchanted trance, never to return.  
      
    “Would you join me?”  
          
    Thranduil had left his seat and stood at her side, one hand delicately resting on her shoulder. Part of Rowan knew she should decline, but her resolution faltered as she looked up at his ageless face and saw the slightest hint of hopeful anticipation there. It seemed that right as she was preparing to let go, she was inexorably being drawn further in. It wasn’t right, Rowan chastised herself, to lose herself in this revelry that didn’t belong to her. But some inexplicable force seemed to guide her feet as she stood up and took the hand the Elvenking offered her. Rowan’s heart fluttered as he smoothly led her down the stairs into the midst of his subjects. The two fell in step seamlessly as he drew her into his arms and they spun together, locked in each others orbit like binary stars. Her head felt light and dizzy, although she had barely had anything to drink. Tentatively resting her hands on Thranduil’s shoulders, she could feel the iron strength of his muscles coiled beneath the velvet fabric of his robes. His arms locked around her waist, effortlessly enveloping her and yet somehow she felt sheltered rather than caged. The Elvenking’s unique fragrance of spicy pine sap and cold morning dew surrounded Rowan. With the slightest ripple of power, he easily lifted her and spun her about once, twice before setting her back down onto her feet again. Their magic crackled, arced between them. For a instant that stretched on into eternity, Rowan forgot about what anyone else might think of them, of her, of what the consequences of this stolen moment might be.  
    But eventually it had to end, and Thranduil led Rowan back to her seat, slightly breathless and pink in her cheeks.  
      
    “I must put in an appearance at a few of the other gatherings tonight.” He hand lingered on hers. “I will return shortly.”  
      
    Rowan looked up at him, still slightly dazed. She hoped this night is what they would remember of each other, not the pain and frustration of their constant power struggle. Her heart contracted with that sad ache once again, hoping she would not have to see the agony on his perfect face when he found her gone.  
      
    “Goodbye.” She whispered softly.  
      
    Thranduil’s expression flickered with confusion. “Goodnight, _heryn vell.”_  
      
    He bent his head to swiftly press a feather-light kiss to the back of her hand, and then released it. With a nod of his head to the remaining elves seated at the table, he was gone. Rowan rubbed the skin where his lips had touched, the ghostly shiver of magic stubbornly lingering there. Once the Elvenking had left the hall, anxiety began to mount in her chest. This was her window of opportunity, her best chance to leave. How long should she wait before trying to discreetly excuse herself? No one was paying her any particular attention anymore, even Eccaieth was deep in conversation with a noble lady to her right. Rowan eyed the room warily. Her friends appeared to have left their table, lost in the boisterous crowd. She cautiously stood, hoping she didn’t appear too unnatural, and smiled apologetically at her guardian when the elf looked up questioningly.  
      
    “I’m going to find my fellow miscreants. I promise we’ll come back before bedtime.”  
  
    Eccaieth raised an eyebrow and shook her head, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Rowan let her gaze hesitate on her friend one last time. The elf maiden looked radiant in the warm glow of the lights, her yellow dress and crown of foliage giving her pale skin and ashen hair a golden glow. Her deep blue eyes were fathomless as ever, but sparkled with amusement as she made light conversation with the elf lord across from her. With one last glance, Rowan turned away, heading slowly but steadily towards the rear door. The discontentedly sober guards positioned at the exit nodded to her briskly, far more interested in reaching the end of their watch so that they could join in the festivities themselves, rather than questioning where she was going.  
    The outer halls were still tranquil, most of their inhabitants settled in one place or another for the time being as they partied the night away. Even in the deep underground, the tantalizing autumn smell of wood smoke and crisp leaves permeated the air. The soft hanging lights were low, and the atmosphere was calm, in abrupt contrast to the tumultuous emotions in Rowan’s heart. Her low heels clicked softly against the stone floor, and she focused on the steadiness of the sound, regulating her pace and her breathing. Though every instinct in her mind was screaming at her to make a break for it and just run to the wine cellars, she purposely took a lengthy and roundabout route. For all appearances, she genuinely seemed to be casually searching out her friends. By and large, everything appeared to be going extremely well, until Rowan attempted to gain access to a critical staircase, about five levels above where the lowest caverns where the cellars were. As she approached the gateway, an ornately armored guard stepped into her path.  
      
    “I apologize, my lady, but I cannot allow anyone through without special permission.” He explained as he gave a slight bow of his head.  
      
    Rowan tried her best to contain her ire, and smiled sweetly instead. “I see. Well, I’m just looking for Huoriel and Veryan, I thought they might’ve come this way looking for more wine.”      
  
    “I have not seen them, and I have been stationed here most of the night. Why not turn back and look in the upper levels?”  
      
    “Really, I don’t think they’re up there. Can’t you please just let me through? I go where I’m not allowed to all the time anyway.”  
      
    The guard smirked at her last remark but remained firmly planted in her way. “ _Please_ , my lady, if you would just return for now.”  
      
    A hot prickle of fear and anger bit at Rowan’s spine. She was not going to just give up, not now when she was so close. She desperately considered how she might pass without getting herself or the guard hurt. Combat couldn’t end well for either side, and unfortunately she didn’t exactly have a gift for mental manipulation. A scorching ember of dread settled in her stomach.  
      
    “I _really_ need to find them. It’s very important.” Rowan tried to keep her tone even but her heart was beating out of her chest and anxiety threatened to choke her. The searing feeling on her skin intensified.  
  
    The woodland soldier braced his feet firmly and gave her a stern look. “I do not wish to call for aid and have you removed—“  
      
     _“ **NO.** ”_  
  
     The word burned as it left her throat. Her vision went white for a moment. A vibration of power expelled from her, lighting up the air of the room. The animalistic urge to flee overwhelmed Rowan’s senses, obliterating all else. She had to get _out_. The vine-like tree roots that encircled the door and hung from the ceiling shuddered, as if sensing her command. The heavy smell of moss and wet soil filled her nose.  
      
   _“I need to leave **NOW.** ”_  
      
    The guard whirled around in alarm, staring in shock at the roots that had begun to twist and writhe in agitation. His cry of distress was cut short as a particularly large vine wrapped around his middle and swung him high into the air. Pieces of stone and earth clattered to the ground as they were dislodged by the violent movement of the tree’s tendrils. The ensuing cloud of dust made Rowan cough, shocking her back to her senses.  
      
     _“Don’t hurt him!”_  
      
    The roots calmed their thrashing ever so slightly, but continued to suspend the poor solider midair.  
  
_“We will protect you, Daughter! Even from the Children of the Stars.”_  
  
    The unearthly voices echoed in her head, fraught with concern. Rowan gathered up the generous hem of her dress and scurried forward, ducking between the rubble as she made her way down the stairs.  
      
_“That’s great and all, but please, let’s not hurt anyone.”_  
      
    The spirit of the trees gave no audible response, but she could feel their acquiescence, a strong hum of acknowledgment that passed through their network of fibers. Her breath came in sharp gasps as she ran full tilt, racing along passageways, furiously trying to get to the lowest level. It seemed the guard’s protests had been for good reason, there was no one stationed in between him and her goal. The light duty had likely been assigned without a care— after all, the dwarves were safely locked up and why should the elves worry about Rowan after all this time? She mentally thanked the Eldar for their blissful overconfidence. As Rowan scuttled across a wide archway that bridged a vast chasm of space between two lofty doorways, one of her delicately beaded shoes slipped off her foot and fell down into the depths below. It clattered hollowly as it knocked into various structures during its unnervingly long descent. She had just reached the middle distance of the bridge, when a retinue of soldiers stepped up to the passage in front of her. Rowan hissed and spun around, only too be greeted by the same sight at the doorway she had just exited. Her skin prickled uncomfortably again, although with a much more familiar sensation. The implacable wall of woodland guards parted, revealing the resplendent form of their monarch.  
      
   _“Avo garo.”_ Thranduil’s voice was surprisingly soft as it echoed in the empty air between them.  
      
    It seemed for a long moment as their eyes met, that they were the only two beings in the room. The whispering of the forest in Rowan’s mind, the rumbling of the shifting root system, the distant shouting of guards—it all faded away. Her glittering silver eyes met his pleading blue ones, the depths of emotion he rarely showed on his face burning brightly there. Rowan could feel their shared magic desperately trying to reach between them, could almost visualize its nebulous light as it attempted to bridge them together despite their physical distance. Electricity sparked in the air with the hum of the tree’s awakening. It was like their spiritual bond could feel what she was attempting to do, and was heroically jumping in the way to stop her. Rowan shook her head resolutely, wordlessly answering his question.  
    Thranduil took a small step forward, and she felt the soldiers behind her do the same. Immediately, panic slammed down on her heart again, and the moment was lost. A living wall of vines splayed out in front of the guards at her rear, halting their progress. The earth shook dangerously as roots hovered around the contingent in front of Rowan, but the forest seemed unwilling to advance on the King of Mirkwood. Rowan cursed inwardly. Wasn’t she apparently further up in the hierarchy of importance to them? Perhaps through their connection to the Elvenking, they could sense that he did not intend her any bodily harm. They could see that he meant to protect her, keep her in the forest with them.  
    Rowan let a growl rumble from her chest. There might be knights and enchanted forests meddling in her life, but this was _not_ her fairytale. She bent over slightly to retrieve her one remaining slipper. She may be wearing a ballgown at midnight, but Thranduil was _not_ Prince Charming, and she was _not_ angling to become a permanent royal consort. The earthen bridge shuddered beneath her. Castles, wizards, and magical beings could sod right off, for all she cared, it was time for her to go _home_.  
    Time slowed down as several things happened at once. First, Rowan unceremoniously slung her shoe at the Elvenking with an admirably well-aimed pitch.  Second, the bridge beneath her dissolved into shards of stone and dirt, cascading down into the vast space below. In the ensuing chaos, Thranduil and his guards desperately pitched forward to reach for her, but Rowan was already falling, a swirl of gold fabric and red hair as she tumbled. Her heart stilled, absolutely calm as she focused inwardly. Brilliant white light consumed her figure, enveloping her body with living power. Rowan worried briefly that her garments would impede her transformation, but they fell away easily, eaten away by the burning path of magic. For a moment, she appeared rather like a comet, shedding a cascading trail of shimmering fabric and sparkling energy as she descended. Finally free of restraints, her physical form twisted and reshaped, assuming the body of a luminescent snowy owl. With a shrill cry, the bird wheeled and arched in the air, powerful strokes of her tapered white wings pulling her upward. Rowan circled over the heads of the elves, her tawny eyes taking in their astonished faces and the cleaved ruin of the archway she’d destroyed.  
    Thranduil’s formerly impassive face was now twisted in an expression of abject horror, icy eyes tormented as his stared up at her imploringly. The emotions were rolling off of him like storm clouds, swamping her through their bond. Surprise, fear, anger, helplessness. His mind stretched out to meet hers.  
      
   _Little Stranger…_  
      
    For a split second, Rowan faltered. His pain shot through her heart like an arrow. Part of her soul urged to reach for him, to stop the wheel she had set in motion. But her resolution could not waver. She gave her wings another flap and dove down, deep into the cavern.  
    It fortunately only took a fraction of the time to reach the wine cellars on wing. Rowan circumvented several floors of hallways and stairs simply by flying directly downward. The still air ruffled her feathers as she zoomed ahead, sharply turning into a tunnel that led her farther into the cavern infrastructure. It was still mercifully quiet, as she raced ahead of any warning about her escape amongst the understaffed guards. Rowan knew, however, that she only had a lead of a few minutes, at most. The closer she drew to the store rooms, the louder she could hear the dull roar of an underground river. The air smelled clammy, like wet rocks. The cheerily lit cellar came into view, the door thankfully left swinging wide open by the last person to enter.  
    As she entered, Rowan could see why. Thranduil’s butler, Galion, and one of the guard captains were at the table soundly asleep, their dark hair spilling across the table as they snoozed peacefully with a jug of wine between them. Rowan circled the room cautiously before slipping back into human shape, bare feet alighting on the cold floor. Neither elf stirred. A sound from the inner chamber drew her attention, and she snuck over to doorway. The welcome sight of Bilbo’s short statured figure was within, as he industriously scurried back and forth, securing lids on oaken barrels. The large casks were stacked neatly in the center of the room, lashed together with a thick length of rope. The halfling looked up, brown eyes warming from fear into recognition when he saw Rowan. When he realized she was standing there naked, his face immediately flushed.  
      
    “I’m sorry!” Rowan whispered hurriedly and she crept into the room. “Unforeseen complication.”  
      
    Bilbo nodded and pointedly looked away, returning his focus back to the barrels. “Well, I’m just glad you made it. We’re ready to go, I think.”      
      
    “They’re…in the barrels?” Rowan questioned, half amazed that the hobbit had managed to convince the reportedly stubborn dwarves to try such a thing. A muffled grunt and a curse from within a cask answered her question.  
      
    “Had to come up with something quickly. A lot less conspicuous than throwing them all in the river!”  
      
    Rowan chuckled and patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “Well, it beats anything I’ve thought of.”  
      
    A distance clamor of voices echoing off the stone walls caught her attention. Her pulse began to race again and her muscles trembled with anxiety. “We need to go now.”  
      
    Bilbo’s eyes darted around, searching the room. “There’s a switch for the trap door over here somewhere…”  
  
    As she turned about to help him look, Rowan’s heart stopped. A figure stood silently observing them from the outer room, motionlessly hovering beside the two sleeping elves. Her midnight hair shone even in the relative darkness of the room, brushing her waist as she took a slow step forward, black eyes intense and mysterious as they fixated upon Rowan.  
      
    “Falathiel…” The redhead breathed out, scarcely daring to move.  
      
    The ageless perfection of her friend’s face remained unmoved, revealing nothing of the thoughts beneath. Once more, Rowan considered that the ancient _elleth_ appeared to be made of marble itself, as if elves simply became living statues with age. A curved sword, which Rowan knew to be sharp as a diamond, hung at Falathiel’s waist but she made no attempt to reach for it. The elven warrior took another step forward, and then one more, until she stood only a few feet from Rowan and the hobbit behind her. Bilbo’s nervous fluttering could be felt even without turning to look at him. Rowan prayed to whatever Valar or other deity that might be listening that the halfling would keep still and let her handle this. Falathiel reached a white hand into the shadows at her left, resting her slim fingers lightly on a metal lever embedded in the floor there. _Oh._ So _that’s_ where the damnable thing was. The uproar in the caverns seemed to be drawing closer, the voices becoming more distinct as they peaked with panic.      
      
    “Please, I need…I _have_ to go.” Rowan’s throat suddenly became unbearably dry.  
      
    Falathiel’s stony expression wavered ever so slightly. Her pale hand on the switch clenched tighter.  
  
   _“…Galo Anor erin râd lîn.”_ May the sun shine upon your path.  
    The dark elf’s mesmerizing voice filled the tense silence of the room, as her words sunk it.  
      
    A beat passed. Rowan’s heart leapt in her throat.  
  
   _“u…Ú-firo i laiss e-guil l-lîn.”_ May the leaves of your life never die.  
    Rowan responded hoarsely in the dialect tongue of the Mirkwood Elves, suddenly instantly grateful for all of Uiron’s tireless lessons.  
  
    She found herself left uncharacteristically with nothing else to say as emotion choked her voice entirely. Falathiel nodded and gave the groaning lever a sharp pull, and suddenly the floor beneath the escapees was gone. Rowan, Bilbo, and the raft of barrels were falling into the inky darkness of the river below. Freezing liquid lashed at her skin as her head went under, burning with an icy kiss as it seeped into her nose and ears. At first all Rowan could hear was the great roaring of its furious torrent of water all around her, and then she broke the surface and distantly became aware of Bilbo splashing and struggling to reach the floating barrels. She allowed her head to slip under the waves again, letting the salt of her tears wash away in the rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my month, I swear. I ended up being hospitalized for a week and that threw my writing schedule way off. Anyway, I hope this chapter is satisfactory after the wait! Thank you so much for your continuing comments and kudos.
> 
> Title is from the song by Peter Murphy.


	12. Ashes and Dreams

_A voice said, Look me in the stars_  
_And tell me truly, men of earth,_  
_If all the soul-and-body scars_  
_Were not too much to pay for birth._

  
**Chapter Twelve**

  
  
    The surging current of the underground river bore the strange party of escaped prisoners along at a frightening pace, the darkness of the cave hiding countless unknown dangers that they might be dashed against. When they finally broke from underneath the mountain, and the white glow of the moon burst forth in front of Rowan’s eyes, her heart could not help but leap towards it in joy. She could hear, rather than see, Bilbo sputter and cough occasionally as he clung to the barrel raft for dear life. Tired of struggling to stay afloat herself, she called on her own infinitely useful abilities, and took the shape of a river otter. Effortlessly spinning and flipping about in the freezing water in her sinuous mammalian body, Rowan relished her freedom for a moment. They had done it. They were out.  
    The river gate loomed up ahead of them all too soon. It sat open, unsuspecting guards perched on either side. _Oh, dearest Falathiel!_ Rowan exclaimed to herself silently, mentally thanking her friend for covering for them. Clearly the enigmatic elven maiden had not given away the route of their escape, or had otherwise delayed the guards from sounding the alarm. As Rowan, the hobbit, and the thirteen dwarves floated beneath the archway of stone and metal, the watchers on the gate carried on as if nothing was out of place. To their eyes, there only appeared an innocuous float of barrels, and if one looked very closely, a smallish brown river animal darting back and forth between them. Rowan still held her breath for a long moment, not daring to even look up… and then they were past, and borne away once more down the roaring waters, away from the Elvenking’s mountain halls.  
    It was only a little while after that they were also free of the last clinging edges of the forest, and the river flowed out into the open. Rowan could _feel_ the trees reaching out for her with their incorporeal energy as she drifted past, their low voices crying out in protest as she finally found herself under open skies for the first time in months. Her heart clenched, but she steeled herself and did not look back.  
    The banks of the river widened after some time, allowed the water to become shallower and slower. The ground leveled out somewhat, and the pace became gentler and the rapids less churning. Their path skirted the trees on the right, and to the left were vague and shadowy forms that Rowan could not discern in the depths of night. It was mercifully quiet, save for the sound of water, and no animals or other beings stirred in the dark. Tired of swimming, she eventually climbed aboard the raft and curled up comfortably as she was able. Bilbo’s bedraggled form had reappeared again, no longer having to conceal himself with the mysterious magic he possessed. Though Rowan’s relief was great, she felt as wretched as he looked. Inside her animal’s skin, she was still terribly cold, and her soul felt hollow and aching as she drew farther and farther away from her captor.  
    They floated this way in relative peace for several hours, until the pale light of morning broke over the land. As the sun began to climb in the misty sky, the lands before them became clearer. Birds began to utter snippets of songs as they roused. This new landscape was wide and open, punctuated with choppy hills and rocky outcroppings, mostly brown and red with the change of season except for evergreens here and there. To the south, Rowan could faintly see the shimmering waters of a massive lake stretching along the horizon. To the north, the hills became steeper and more pronounced as they drew closer to one towering, isolated mountain. Rowan’s breath caught when she looked upon it. Sharp and intimidating as it presided over the country, snow tipped its high peaks, and she could not suppress the shudder of dread that came over her to see it. There was something awful about it she could not define, and she resolutely had no desire to be anywhere near it.  
      
    “The Lonely Mountain…” Bilbo sighed tiredly as they both gazed at it. “Hard to believe a dragon dwells within it.”  
  
    “A _what_?” Rowan shrieked, tumbling out of her transformation to stare at Bilbo accusingly. Her alarmed voice cut through the misty stillness of the morning air. “There is a _dragon_ in that mountain?!” She hissed in a lower tone.  
      
    Bilbo blushed furiously, partly in mollification for dropping that information on his companion, partly because said companion was now naked and glaring daggers at him. “I’m sorry, I thought…you knew. There’s a red fire drake asleep under there, Smaug. He sacked the dwarf kingdom some two hundred years ago. That’s why the dwarves came here, to take back their inheritance from him. They hired me as their burglar.”  
  
    Rowan could only blink owlishly.  
      
    “I, ah, I guess our secret quest did stay that way after all. I didn’t want to risk anything by telling you back there…” He trailed off, waiting for her to respond.  
      
    “Okay, so there’s a _dragon_?”  
      
    Bilbo nodded.  
  
    Rowan pressed a hand to her pale face in disbelief. “…And you guys are going to _steal_ from him?”  
      
    He nodded again.  
      
    “I can’t see how that can possibly go wrong.” She remarked bitterly after a moment of trying to grasp the concept that dragons happened to exist in Middle Earth. It shouldn’t have entirely come as a shock, but it was still quite a pill to swallow. Bilbo was looking rather green about the gills himself, and Rowan immediately felt guilty for making him feel worse about his already impossible mission. She smiled timidly at him. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. I can’t say I’ve ever met someone better at sneaking around.”  
      
    His complexion seemed to improve a little at her encouragement, though they both were still shivering with cold. Rowan regarded the barrels beneath them and wished she could ask the currently confined dwarves how exactly they intended to go about this. Their relatively silence was a bit worrying, and she dearly hoped that she and Bilbo would be able to free them soon. Being so confined could hardly be any better than being soaked in the icy river. The sun continued to rise above them as they went farther downstream, warming her trembling body slightly. She was so bone-achingly tired she wasn’t entirely sure that she would be able to transform into an otter again if she wanted to.  
    Though the sun and sky were open above her, and fresh air filled her lungs, Rowan did not feel as she had dreamed she would. The heavens were grey rather blue, the air was cold, and the sun could do little to penetrate the chill in her chest. Thranduil had warned her that their separation might be unbearable, and perhaps he was right. Already, the sight of the trees shrinking in the distance pulled at something within her, her spirit reaching back towards them. But she would bear it. She had to.  
    By late morning, they had reached a natural bend in the river where the barrels were able to gently beach themselves upon the shore as the current swung around curve. Groaning and wincing as they flexed their stiff muscles, Bilbo and Rowan dragged the wooden casks the rest of the way onto the riverbank, and set about freeing the occupants within. Unwinding the waterlogged rope holding the barrels together, many unhappy grunts were heard within as some of them toppled over and rolled onto the marshy ground. Rowan lent a hand as Bilbo loosened the lids. As the dwarves began to emerge one by one, she stood back a distance and let the hobbit greet them first. The stocky creatures were cranky (and some a bit soggy) but as they milled about, stretched their limbs, and loudly voiced their complaints, they overall appeared to be no worse for the wear. Rowan observed with unabashed fascination, curious as ever about these new people. All were bearded, though their generous heads of hair came in a variety of colors from black to red to golden blonde. They wore the same sort of weather-beaten travel clothes as Bilbo. Looking from one scowling face to another, Rowan tried her best not to smirk. _‘Misery loves company’_ had never seemed so apt.  
    When it seemed those assembled had finally taken notice of the odd red-haired women clothed in just her long red hair, Thorin was the first to approach her. Even being damp and a bit bruised, his deep blue eyes, proud stance, and dark cloud of rugged black hair still lent him a imposing appearance. Those piercing eyes appraised Rowan sharply as she did her best not to waver under his scrutiny. Though she was taller than him, she felt rather small.  
  
    “Mr. Baggins tells me that you are kin of Beorn’s, and that you played a part in securing our freedom.” He at last proclaimed, his voice deep and resonate.  
  
    Rowan nodded, not certain how to respond. She was immediately grateful that the halfling had given her some sort of backstory to the dwarven company.  
  
    Thorin shifted slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I remember seeing you when those cursed elves first brought me to their king. I will not inquire as to the nature of your imprisonment there, for any enemy of his must be an ally to us. You have our thanks for your role in our escape. It is of the utmost importance that we are delayed no longer.”  
      
    “I’m glad to have been of any help, but really, Bilbo was the mastermind here. We both owe him greatly.” She replied, turning slightly to the hobbit to give him a quick wink.    
      
    The ebony haired dwarf followed her gaze, considering Bilbo thoughtfully. “We do indeed owe our burglar much. Now I fear there is no more time for pleasantries, we must make haste to resupply and move onto the mountain.” Clearly a leader of few words, he turned back to his company, assessing their readiness to set out again.  
      
    Rowan looked over her shoulder at the mountain, still proudly standing aloof in the distance. It was hard to believe a real, fire-breathing dragon slept under its summit. Just how did they propose to sneak into the monster’s lair without waking it up? Surely a creature that could wipe out a whole kingdom could easily make short work of thirteen dwarves and a halfling. And what would happen to the nearby town, to Mirkwood and its inhabitants? Everything about the mountain and the company’s intentions towards it set her nerves on edge. She felt as if she should ought to warn them off, but knew from the grim determination of Thorin’s manner and her own lack of standing in this world, nothing she said would be taken kindly. And what else could she do, go back to Thranduil and tell him to stop them, after all her bickering with him over their release? Truly, she was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Rowan sighed deeply. All she wanted at that moment was to lay down and sleep for a week.  
    A tentative cough to her left drew her attention away from her inner monologue. A rotund red-haired dwarf stood there, of such breadth and width, Rowan was not sure whether he would be taller longways or sideways. His features were not like the imposing dark looks of Thorin, he was far softer with a rounder nose and cheeks, and face tinged with a rosy hue. His ginger beard and thick head of hair were neatly braided in intricate patterns, with metallic beads interspersed here and there. In his meaty hands he was delicately holding out a threadbare overcoat that he’d clearly just taken off himself.  
      
    “Scuse me, lass, but ye looked rather cold, and aye got enough paddin’ to keep m’self warm.” He gave her a lop sided grin.  
      
    Rowan’s heart melted at his sincere gesture, and she gratefully took the proffered garment, shrugging it over her narrow shoulders. Though wide enough on her to drape off her like a tent, it only hung to just above her knees. Still, it was far better than continuing to traipse about naked in the biting autumn chill. It seemed she’d recently developed quite a habit of acquiring clothes from strangers.  
  
    “Thank you very much, ah…?”  
      
    “Bomburr, m’lady.” He flushed proudly, with a half bow.  
  
    Rowan inclined her head in turn. “Very nice to meet you. Thank you again.”  
  
    The opportunity for more conversation was cut short, as a cry of warning went out amongst the company. Someone was approaching. Rowan swiveled around, until she caught sight of a rather flat barge-like boat coming up the river. Upon it was a single figure, a man standing at the stern using a single long oar to efficiently scull his craft upstream. As he drew closer, the dwarves circled together tightly, defensive and wary as they bodily shielded their leader. Rowan, however, was instantly curious about the tall human man captaining the vessel and hopped up upon a boulder to get a better view. Though haggard and world-weary in overall appearance, his face was angular and handsome, and his eyes kind. A quiver and curved longbow were strapped to his back. Clearly the man had spotted their vagabond group, as once he had come within a few meters, he directed his boat towards the bank, mooring it by tossing a thick rope loop over a tree trunk. Leaping down deftly, he landed in the shallow waters and strode purposefully towards them. A shiver of tension went through the dwarves. Bilbo had joined Rowan beside her on the boulder, raptly watching the scene unfolding.  
      
    “What brings dwarves to Esgaroth, and with stolen property of the Elvenking no less?” The man called out, staring down the company unflinchingly.  
      
    Thorin pushed forward to the head of the group, blue eyes flashing. “We are no thieves!” He cried out defiantly. “I am Thorin Oakenshield, King under the mountain, come to retake my birthright.”  
      
    “Be that as it may, I am Bard of Laketown and my people rely on trade with the elf kingdom. We do not need rabble rousers here.” The man’s stony expression flinched only slightly.  
      
    The dwarven leader looked quite ready to charge ahead and sock him in the jaw. Fortunately for both of them, at that moment a grey-haired wise looking dwarf stepped in between them. “We simply seek to resupply in town. Let us make our case to your master, and we will move on. We can compensate you to ferry us, if you will,  for we must make haste.”  
      
    Bard and Thorin stared each other down for a long moment, neither of them seemingly too pleased with this proposition. Then, finally, Bard’s stance relaxed just a fraction and he nodded slowly. “Very well. I will take you to the marketplace and no further.”  
      
    The posturing and locking horns being dispensed with, it took a surprisingly small amount of time to shuffle thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a skin changer, and a man into the boat. Rowan followed along hesitantly at first, not sure if she was included in this invitation, but Bilbo smiled at her encouragingly. It seemed as good a plan as any, considering she wasn’t quite sure where to go with herself at that moment. She was far too exhausted to attempt to shapeshift and fly back over Mirkwood to Beorn’s homestead, and she dared not try to rest out in the open, so close to the place she had only just escaped from.  
    With a resigned sigh, she plopped herself down on a barrel by the bow, tucking her shivering legs up to her chest, underneath the borrowed jacket. Almost immediately thereafter, Rowan found herself flanked by a pair intensely curious young dwarves. Once introduced, she instantly liked Fili and Kili very much— birds of a feather flock together, as her mother always said. The two cut rather striking figures— Kili with flyaway brown hair as dark as the night, and Fili with a golden mane of braids as warm as the sun. They both had a twinkle of humor in their eye that enhanced their friendly dispositions. The brothers were by far the youngest, it was easy to tell, as time had yet to dim their spirits, even their times of trial and frustration in exile. Rowan asked them about anything she could think of and enjoyed their answers— which generally turned into amusing personal anecdotes from their travels. Being around them made her spirit feel lighter, chasing away the shadows of the past night.  
    The sun was beginning to move to the west as they came into view of Laketown by afternoon. Heavy fog was rising from the waters of The Long Lake, and to Rowan’s surprise, ice floes could be seen shifting on its surface. The town itself was an even bigger surprise, a somewhat haphazard arrangement of wooden platforms raised from the water on stilts, buildings of various sizes settled upon these. Spaces were left in between as channels for boats to pass through, in lieu of streets. A long bridge connected it to the land. In the shallower waters by the shore, rotten pilings rose up from the lake like the ghost of a former city. In the cold, damp air, the whole scene was about as heartwarming as the Lonely Mountain.  
    As their vessel glided into a canal, the passageways and buildings were eerily quiet for such a cramped space. The odor of fish and mildewed wood filled the air. The faces of the townsfolk were grey and grim as their town, people making little noise as they passed each other and went about their daily business. Rowan’s heart sunk further in her stomach. A sudden pang of longing for home struck her at the sight of the hapless human beings around her. Surely, somewhere in Middle Earth, the race of men lived in happiness? Rowan had seen more of the spirit of her human family in elves and hobbits than in these specimens. The farther Bard took his passengers into the town, however, a noticeable murmur passed through the crowd. People stopped their labors to turn and openly stare, and chatter amongst themselves at the sight before them. By the time that the boat reached a wide open platform in the center of town, quite a few people had followed their progress and lingered to see what they would do next.  
    Something akin a flicker of hope stirred in the eyes of the townsfolk. _‘Dwarves!’_ They whispered. _‘Could it be? The King Under The Mountain has returned!’_ a few hissed excitedly. Apparently, Thorin’s reputation preceded him.  
    The boat thunked dulled against the pier as Bard pulled it alongside and tied it off on a piling. The wise dwarf from before pressed a gold coin to Bard’s hand as they disembarked, and Rowan privately admired that he’d managed to keep it on his person after their stint in the dungeon. A mansion larger and grander than all the other buildings surrounding stood at the other end of the market square. Bard had assured them they would find the Master of Laketown within. Thorin, once ashore and satisfied all his men had followed, turned towards it and set his shoulders grimly. A quiver of anticipation went through the crowd. Clearly, they had some faith in this quest that Rowan could not grasp. A cold dread within her chest, icy as the waters of the Long Lake, told her that something terrible would happen should they continue to press towards that mountain. As the company shuffled in behind their leader, Bilbo turned to look at her questioningly. Hesitating a moment, she shook her head. Rowan reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a squeeze and mouthing silently _‘Good luck’_. What else could she say?  
    The retreating backs of the company disappeared before her eyes as the crowd filled in behind them. She wasn’t sure if she wanted their request for aid to be granted, or for them to be thrown back out to rethink this suicidal task. Nothing she could do would change things, either way. Looking around, Rowan realized Bard was still at her side.  
  
    “Where will you go, then?” He asked, not unkindly.  
      
    Rowan shrugged. “I…don’t know. All I wanted was to be out of Mirkwood, and now I am. I’m not sure what happens next.”  
      
    Bard shuffled a bit next to her, before clearing his throat and speaking again. “Have you any kin hereabout?”  
      
    She shook her head.  
      
    “I will not pretend I know if you are Elf or Man, or something else entirely, but something in me cannot leave a maiden without protection to wander the streets in a borrowed coat.” He rested a hand on a piling, looking off into the middle distance uncomfortably.  
      
    Rowan flushed slightly. “I couldn’t possibly—“  
      
    Bard cut her off. “I have a son and two daughters at home. I think Sigrid, my eldest, might have something more suitable you could wear. She would be grateful to have someone who could help her around the house, as I am so often away. Until you decide what happens next for you.”  
      
    Perhaps it was the result of patronizing, outdated attitudes, but Rowan could help but be grateful for the assistance she had found so far in random acquaintances. Bard’s diplomatic but generous offer of aid touched her and the great weight of foreboding on her shoulders lifted just a little. She looked up at him and smiled. “That is extremely kind, Bard of Laketown. I’d be honored.”  
      
    In the end, after a short voyage to a small house of the outer edge of the floating town, it turned out Bard’s son Bain was a better match for Rowan in wardrobe choices. With many giggles from the two daughters and a sheepish grin from Rowan, they had fit her straight and sinewy body with a tunic and breeches, and a pair of Sigrid’s shoes. Bard had deposited his new house guest and gone off again to finish his business for the day. His older daughter and the younger, Tilda, were sweet, sincere, and easily likable. Theirs were the first smiles Rowan had seen since entering the town. She dearly hoped the oppressive atmosphere in their home town wouldn’t smother their spirits as they got older. Bain clearly already felt the burden of adult responsibility despite being the middle child, his young face was serious and prematurely etched with concern. Immediately, Rowan took it upon herself to tease him good-naturedly and try to coax laughter out of him whenever possible, succeeding a few times with spinning stories of her adventures in Middle Earth while they accomplished chores about the house.  
    Rowan curiously followed around Bard’s gaggle of brunette offspring for the rest of the day, helping where she could. She entertained Tilda, helped Sigrid hang up herbs to dry, assisted Bain with hauling water up to boil over the hearth. Rowan’s weariness did not abate, but the chatter and activity distracted her from the hollow aching in her chest. Inside the little home, the smell of wood fire, medicinal herbs, and food drove off the dreary wetness of the outside. As she scrubbed the pine wood floor with a mixture of vinegar and water, Rowan wondered how Thorin’s request for aid from the Master was fairing. It had been several hours since they parted now, and no news had spread. The whole town seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation. Would the exiled king retake his throne and raise the fortunes of Laketown with his own? Would he bring ruin upon them instead?  
     The sky was beginning to darken outside the foggy little windows of Bard’s house. Bain had left to go assist the fishermen unloading their day’s catch at the docks, hoping to earn a few coins. Bard still had not returned either, so it was just the trio of girls as they ate a modest dinner together of homemade bread and fish stew. After their repast, Rowan allowed a gleeful Tilda to braid the ridiculously long red hair that had apparently captivated the younger girl. She didn’t even flinch when she tugged too sharply, though her eyes did water a bit. Rowan hadn’t had much experience around younger children after she herself had grown older. Most of the time she had no idea what to do with them, to be honest. Perhaps it was a product of the poverty-stricken environment the girl had been raised in, but Tilda was far more thoughtful and serious than Rowan would guess a child of ten or twelve might be. If playing with a mane of unkempt locks made the girl smile, Rowan would happily sacrifice her tender scalp.  
    When Bain returned, they sent themselves off to bed in their shared bedroom upstairs, and Rowan was generously provided a couple of quilts to make herself a nest in downstairs. Plopping down by the simmering embers in the fireplace, Rowan tucked her borrowed blankets around her and glared down the door, daring anyone to enter. The least she could do is honor the faith Bard put in her and keep watch over his children until he returned. As the night drew deeper, she stayed up, staring at the shadows in the corners of the room. Outside, water lapped at the wooden pilings and boats creaked against their rope tethers. The slats of the platform walkways groaned occasionally as booted feet made their way across, townspeople scurrying about to make their way home in the dark.  
    In the stillness and quiet, the gnawing feeling Rowan’s chest resurfaced unbidden. A vast emptiness had bloomed where the electric hum of Mirkwood and her bond with Thranduil had once resided. It was as if a thread of her soul had come loose, and the farther she drew away, the more she unraveled. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to sever it and free herself. Huddled there in the chill and the dark, haunted by the memories of airy lamp-lit rooms and the warm laughter the elves, Rowan wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to untether herself. Some said once you had eaten fairy food, all else would taste like ash in your mouth. Perhaps those people knew a thing or two about elves.  
    Bard finally shuffled through the door sometime near midnight, looking as weary as she felt. He was startled for a moment, seemingly so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d forgotten he had invited into his home a strange young lady with unearthly gray eyes that peered at him through the darkness of the room. Rowan gave him a timid wave and he nodded, turning to go up the stairs. When the heavy sound of his boots was eventually silent, she at last laid her head down, curling up tightly against herself as if it could keep her fraying edges together.  
  
    Morning came, as silver and cold as the one before. The chiming of bird’s calls rang out over the calm waters and the sun’s first light struggled weakly to pierce the pervasive fog of the Long Lake. Rowan rose before the children, stiffly unfurling her aching limbs. Sleep has slipped through her fingers time and time again, and she felt little better than when she laid down to rest hours before. Whenever she had begun to sink into a deeper unconsciousness, the ghost of a familiar melodic voice called her name and she would jolt awake again, skin prickling with fear. At this rate, she was simply going to keel over and drop into the freezing water, if she wasn’t careful. Neatly folding the quilts, Rowan shrugged her boots back on and crept out the door that groaned ever so gently as it swung aside. Bard was sitting just to the right, perched atop a barrel with one knee drawn up to his chest. Rowan stood silently beside him, willing her cold skin to warm under the sun’s feeble rays. In the early light, small silver hairs at Bard’s temples glimmered slightly against his swath of dark locks. His face was pensive as he stared off across the canal.  
      
    “Your friends have won over the people with their quest, and with popular opinion goes the blessing of the Master. They will set off in but an hour or two.” He made the statement without inflection, but Rowan felt the unspoken question in his words.  
  
    “I can’t really call them friends, I don’t think, aside from Bilbo, seeing as we only made each other’s acquaintance yesterday.” She mused, then sighed. “But part of me wishes someone else had said ‘no’ to this insanity. I don’t know much about dragons and dwarves, but I’m afraid for anyone else that gets caught in the way.”  
      
    Bard grunted in agreement. “Nothing for it, now.” His words were dismissive, but his eyes were worried.  
      
    When the citizens of Laketown began to flock back to the marketplace, Rowan, Bard, and his children trailed after. A large crowd had assembled to see the travelers off. The dwarves had been given a boat, weapons, food, and some other supplies that would help them scale the mountainside. They looked a great deal more cheerful and refreshed than when she had seen them the night before, Thorin striding about in his kingly fashion giving his men orders. The Master, a corpulent man of middling age, stood to the side looking rather ready for the company to be out of his hair already. Bilbo spotted Rowan in the crowd and made his way over. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him perhaps a little harder than she should have. He hugged her fiercely in turn, giving her his best wishes. And then with a short speech on bravery and justice from the Master, the company was gone.  
      
    Rowan distractedly wandered about after their departure, awash in her thoughts and anxieties. It seemed that the town’s appetite for odd things left with her friends, and the people that she passed gave her increasingly intense looks. Some regarded her with curiosity, others with open hostility. Her _otherness_ was impossible to hide, at this point. Perhaps in the past she could have masqueraded as a strange waif of a human girl, but now one look at her face told you that she did not belong there. Bard may have offered his trust and his home to her, but the sullen, gray people of Laketown would not accept her here for long. Feeling more disquieted than ever, and more than a little self-pitying, Rowan eventually made her way back to Bard’s home and spent the rest of the morning scaling, cleaning, and salting fish with Sigrid.  
    It turned out it was surprisingly hard to concentrate on wielding a knife at a perch, when you were half expecting a dragon to come crashing down on you at any moment. Sigrid sighed in frustration as Rowan hissed, having nicked herself with the blade for the third time. The redhead gave her a sheepish look and put down the knife, deciding instead to go find Bain and see what she could help him with. He was on the roof, valiantly attempting to mend several bare patches in where wooden shingles had broken away. Not trusting herself with a hammer, Rowan sat to the side making idle conversation as she handed him shingles. Her nervous chatter eventually drifted into silence as she lost herself in the memory of the first day she’d spent with Beorn in much the same fashion. It had been warm then, and green with spring. Those months with him seemed worlds away from this cold, damp place. But they would see each other soon, provided the dwarves did not let loose hell on Middle Earth first.  
    However slowly, the day did eventually pass, and as night fell Bard returned. The family and their guest ate dinner together— Rowan contentedly remaining silent and watching the man with his children. All the weariness of his responsibilities came loose as he talked and laughed with them. When the fire died low, they bid each other goodnight. Rowan laid down in her cocoon of blankets and listened to Tilda’s light steps race up the stairs, followed by Sigrid and Bain’s slightly heaver ones, and concluded at last by the weighty thump of Bard’s work boots. Their babbling voices faded away and it was silent. Rowan closed her eyes, the darkness rushed to greet her, and she dreamed.  
      
_The pale green grass was soft and springy under her bare feet as she walked. Soft golden light filtered through the air, though she could not see the source, and the sky overhead was clear and aquamarine. She kept moving forward, legs carrying her towards some unknown destination. The plain stretched on before her in a rippling green ribbon, perfect and unbroken. The air itself smelled cleaner and sweeter than any she had ever breathed before, and a light breeze ruffled her hair._  
_Finally, somewhere far ahead, she could just barely make out two vague figures before her. As she drew closer, she could see that it was a woman and a white stag standing together. The light around them was so bright, it was as though they were standing directly in front of the sun, and she had to squint to see anything distinguishing features at all._  
  
_“Hello, daughter of the Greenwood.”_  
  
_Rowan’s mind swam for a moment, trying to process the woman’s ethereal voice that seemed to echo in her mind and ears at the same time. As she blinked, the glow around the woman and her companion seemed to dim slightly, and she could finally see the lady’s beautiful form. She was clad in a shimmering gossamer gown that almost appeared to be woven from starlight itself. Her feet were bare, the same as Rowan’s. Long, long sable hair spilled over her shoulders, nearly to the backs of her knees. Her eyes were the same spring green as the grass she stood on. Her face was absolutely ageless and had such an overwhelming perfection, that it had the rather unsettling effect of looking like a mask, beautiful but terrifying at the same time. Her lips were curled into a fond expression as she waited for Rowan to finish her assessment. Her cervine attendant huffed as he shook his luminescent antlers and dragged one of his cloven hooves against the ground. There was something naggingly familiar about the pair._  
  
_“Um, hello. Do I…know you from somewhere?”_  
  
_The lady laughed, a musical chiming that drifted through the air. She twirled, glittering skirts swirling around her, and struck a pose in profile almost as if she were running._  
  
_Rowan blanched. “N-nessa?” The resemblance to the carved figure in the headboard of the bed she had slept in for all those weeks was unmistakable. Was she simply dreaming up an apparition from her memories? Yet something about the goddess’s presence and the energy radiating from her was too real to ignore._  
  
_“Yes, Rowan, this is real.” She smiled kindly, her face dazzlingly bright. “Walk with me, forest-daughter, for we have much to discuss and little time. I have been sent here to tell you your story.”_  
  
_With a soft and playful quirk of her lips, Nessa turned a began to lightly saunter away, one hand on the shoulder of the stag as it kept pace with her. Sputtering with questions, Rowan overcame her shock and scurried after them._  
_Nessa meandered across the endless green lawn serenely, feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. Unlike the formality and gravity one would except her presence to have, she instead had an undertone of playfulness and light to her grace. Her dazzling peridot eyes perpetually sparkled with joy. Yet when she began to speak, her melodic voice was serious._  
  
_“Long ago, a shadow was planted in Greenwood the Great. The Necromancer’s poison took hold in the ground and invited evil into the woods. Despair threatened the living soul of the trees. The soul of the Greenwood cried out to Yavanna for help, for even the Children of the Stars that dwelled there could not drive back the shadow. In the early days of Middle Earth, Yavanna had given to the land her Ents, tree shepherds to protect and care for her forests. But the Entwives were gone and the Ents were few, and they could not leave their own dwelling place.”_  
_She paused and turned her eyes to meet Rowan’s, her gaze inescapable. Even in this hazy place of her dream, Rowan’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest as she waited for the goddess to speak._  
_“Yavanna took pity, for the Greenwood, the greatest of all her forests in Middle Earth, is beloved in the hearts of many of the Valar. When the land was young, I ran through those woods many times. My brother Oromë hunted there after the others left for Aman. With her intercession and our blessing, a piece of the powerful spirit of the woods was granted a physical form. This being would be their avatar, to walk upon the earth and intercede on their behalf. With her animate form, she could command the trees and give them power when they otherwise could not act. To protect her while she grew in power and wisdom, she was sent through the veil to another world far from the reach of the Necromancer’s shadow. When the time was right, she was to be brought back to fulfill her purpose.”_  
  
_Rowan felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She would have laughed and insisted that the woman was joking, except Nessa’s face had grown quite solemn. Rowan’s mind felt like wheels spinning in the mud, unable to grasp onto the implication of the story. She realized at some point they had stopped walking._  
  
_“Time moves differently between the veil of the worlds. What was thousands of years to us, was but early adulthood to you. We did not anticipate the need would be so soon. Dark things stir in the land, and I fear the mountain will be the center of it. When the trees called back their daughter, to unify their spirit against this threat, they brought back a young woman only just beginning to know herself. And then matters have become…complicated by the intervention of the King of the Silvan elves. Like his father before him, he shares a deep kinship with the woods and speaks with them in his own way. Perhaps the Greenwood thought by uniting the two of you, it would ease the transition and fortify you against the troubles to come.” Nessa shook her head, her wealth of dark locks rippling. “Thranduil is a being of free will and his actions are his own, as are yours. What has been done cannot be undone, but the path forward is yours alone.”_  
  
_Feeling as though she might just break down into tears or scream, Rowan stared at the Vala helplessly. “I’m just…a girl. A shapeshifter. I age, I get hurt. How can I protect anything?”_  
  
_“You are what you make yourself to be, darling girl. You are a physical manifestation of an incorporeal spirit. Not a human, an animal, or an elf. You age because you were raised by mortals, and felt that you should age as well. Humans are all you have known until now, and so you took the appearance of one. It is only a shroud with which you clothe your soul, a reflection of your self perception. Your may still be wounded, and you may still be killed by another’s hand, but your enduring spirit cannot be ended.” Nessa smiled reassuringly after that dark thought. “At this moment, you are still so young. I can promise that it will become easier in time, as you grow into yourself.”_  
  
_Rowan swallowed hard. “What am I supposed to do_ now _?” It came out as more of a desperate whisper than a question._  
  
_“That is your choice. I cannot swear you will survive the coming darkness, nor can I say that the Greenwood and those who dwell within will survive it without you. You many run, stay, or fight. It is entirely your path to take.”_  
  
_“...I'm afraid.”_  
  
_Nessa reached out and touched Rowan’s shoulder ever so lightly, the slight contact sending a volt of magic through her arm like she’d just touched a live wire instead of a dream vision of a goddess. “I will not lecture you further with talk of duty, destiny, or sacrifice. The truth is, that when the moment comes, you will be alone. Only you can decide what to do.”_  
  
_The air around them shuddered slightly, the dream environment warping. Nessa looked up and smiled sadly._  
  
_“It appears our time has ended. Be well and know your own strength, daughter of the forest.”_  
  
_“Wait! I don’t— “_  
  
_The scene before Rowan shattered, shadows pouring through the cracks. A queer ripping sensation tore through her, and then light pierced through the darkness, and she fell forward into it._  
  
    Rowan woke up to chaos. She sat bolt upright, throwing the blankets back. The floor beneath her pitched and rolled with a terrible tremor. The air was thick with acrid smoke, and suddenly screams were coming from all around, their direction impossible to pin point in the choking darkness. Rowan scrambled to her feet and lurched towards the door. Throwing it open, she looked upwards, and froze in the doorway in shock.

    The sky was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition! I hope it is received well. As always, I appreciate the feedback, kudos, and comments!
> 
> Title from the song by Theatre of Tragedy.


	13. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

_Love has earth to which she clings_  
_With hills and circling arms about--_  
_Wall within wall to shut fear out._  
_But Thought has need of no such things,_  
_For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings._

  
  
**Chapter Thirteen**

  
    Everything was burning. The terrible, inescapable heat folded in from all sides, seeming to come from every direction. The air itself was molten, scorching as it Rowan gasped. Her breaths rattled in her chest, searing her lungs, and winded her all the more. She stepped out into the street, looking up at the sky, desperately searching for an explanation, but could see nothing through the smoke and flames. The entire world was gray and orange. Then it hit her— _the_ _dragon_! Her fears had come to pass. Smaug was awoken.  
    Through the haze of fumes, Bard appeared from behind her. His longbow was slung over his back, and he carried wickedly pointed metal arrows under his arm. His eyes were wild with fear and determination.  
  
   _“Keep them safe!”_ His command was muffled behind the sleeve of his tunic where he held it to his mouth. Though Bard’s face was smeared with ash, his amber eyes were clear and pleading as they bored into hers. “Please, if I fail….if nothing else can be done…keep them safe.”  
  
    Rowan, nearly immobilized by her own dread, nodded her head mutely. She didn’t have the breath to tell him that she herself felt as helpless as a child. Before she could insist that he should put his faith in someone else, Bard had turned and gone, disappearing into the haze. Around her, Rowan could hear the wooden structure of the town creaking and breaking, buildings collapsing into frigid waters. The town couldn’t last long against this blaze, even if the dragon didn’t crush it entirely first. How could she keep Bain, Tilda, and Sigrid safe if Laketown simply burned up beneath them?  
    Suddenly, a rush of wind came from overheard, nearly clearing the fog of ash and cinders. A dark, slithering shape blotted out the moon, bigger than any living thing Rowan had ever seen. In the light of the burning village, she could see the slightest glint of ruby red scales through the shadows. _Smaug._ Even her deepest fears couldn’t have conjured up a being to compare to this. No creature she had encountered on earth could have prepared her for a monster of this magnitude. A bright plume of flame erupted from his reptilian maw, accompanied by a horrifying sound that made Rowan’s mind go blank with terror all over again. Her heart stilled in her chest, and her blood ran as cold as the icy lake beneath her. Smaug’s awful roar was like the reverberation of a freight train, the sheer bass of it shaking the already trembling foundation of Esgaroth. The air vibrated with the dragon’s hateful scream as he let loose more fire upon the helpless mortals beneath him.  
   _We’re going to die. We’re going to die. We’re going to die._ Rowan’s animal brain screamed at her as she stood frozen in fear at the behemoth above them. What could she do against such power? Some dark, cowardly part of her whispered that _she_ could live. She could drop into the dark depths of the lake, and swim away. The bright green heaven of her dream flashed behind her eyes. Rowan recalled Nessa’s words. The goddess had told her that she was the daughter of the Greenwood, a living manifestation of its spirit. Surely she wasn’t meant to die here in a smoldering wreck of a human settlement? Well, Nessa had said her body could die, but not her spirit. If Smaug killed them all, would she drift back into the collective consciousness of the forest? That seemed a lackluster end to such a grand effort on the part of Valar. Freedom from this burning hell was only a leap away. _It would be so easy…_  
    The house creaked and snapped behind her, and a shrill child’s cry of pain rang out through the clamor. _Tilda!_ Rowan’s mind registered. Broken from her reverie, she whipped around to see that the roof of Bard’s home was collapsing, unable to take the strain of its shifting foundation. Adrenaline surged through her, releasing the paralyzing spell of fear. Rowan willed her feet to move, carrying her back into the house as she threw open the door and clamored up the steps. Bain and Sigrid were in the far corner of their attic bedroom, struggling valiantly to lift a fallen beam that had partially trapped their younger sister beneath it. Slivers of debris were raining from the ceiling while the remaining roof groaned. It wouldn’t hold for long. The children said nothing as they turned to Rowan, wild eyed in panic. She could see Tilda’s small, white face peaking from underneath the fallen roof support. _Valar, give me strength for this._ Rowan whispered to herself in a silent prayer, and knelt to grasp the massive timber.  
    Bain and Sigrid squared their shoulders and renewed their struggles, encouraged by the addition to their desperate effort. Though they were now three in number, it was nearly impossible to find purchase as the floor shook beneath them and the precarious ceiling rattled above. It seemed to Rowan they were had only seconds remaining before they were _all_ crushed. The heat was oppressive and consuming. Sweat stung her eyes as it ran in small rivers down her face, leaving tracts of white skin through the soot that coated her. The floor pitched sharply again, nearly knocking the three of them to the floor.  
  
    “Don’t leave me!” Tilda wailed in terror.  
  
    Bain turned away from his task briefly to give her a feeble but comforting smile. “ _Never!_ We are all leaving together!”  
      
    “Where is da?” She whined in a pained, quiet voice.  
      
    “He went to fight the monster. You need to be brave for him.” Bain answered resolutely, and cast a glance to Sigrid and Rowan, who nodded grimly and returned to their task.  
  
    Though she strained and pushed with the last limits of her physical strength, internally, Rowan acknowledged that their current strategy would yield nothing. Even collectively, they didn’t possess the sheer might to move to rafter by brute force alone. Her mind raced through other possibilities. Transforming into some beast of burden was far too dangerous, it would likely just cause the floor to collapse entirely. The house was equipped with no axe to cleave the beam in two. If only she could just… _magic_ it apart. What good was being a some kind of higher being if she couldn’t have power where she needed it? Then, again, how did she _know_ she didn’t? Nessa had told Rowan she was only just beginning to understand herself and her own abilities, and that she was mostly limited by her own narrow perception of reality. It couldn’t hurt to _try_. At the moment, it seemed like they were all about to perish regardless.  
    Rowan closed her eyes and tried to block out the heat and chaos around her. She pulled inward, deep into the shimmering well of power within her core, and brought it forth. Like water, she let it trickle down her arms and pour over her hands where they clutched the joist. This next part, she had never attempted before. Instead of using the light to transform herself, she willed it _out_ of her, through her splayed hands and into the immovable hunk of wood. In her mind’s eye, Rowan carefully imagined the path she wished it to take, exiting her hands and seeping in between the infinitesimal cracks and pores of the surface, worming its way inside and splitting it apart. Startled gasps from the children beside her confirmed that her mental directing was working. After a terrible moment of anticipation, a great snap resounded. As Rowan opened her eyes as timber fell away, thudding as it hit the floor to either side of Bard’s youngest daughter.  
    Disregarding the dumbfounded faces of the children, Rowan knelt and swept Tilda up into her willowy arms, ignoring the fact that her limbs shook with exhaustion and leftover adrenaline.  
    “Let’s get out of here.” Rowan directed Sigrid and Bain, not bothering to wait for a response as she turned and hurried down the stairs that were by some miracle still standing.  
    There was no time for questions, and they knew it, following her out of the house and into the inferno outside.  
      
    Through the cauldron of smog and heat, they could see fishing boats struggling along the narrow channels to flee Laketown, burdened with townsfolk and whatever possessions could be grabbed in haste. More screams rang out in the distance. Rowan shuddered to think of those that had not made it to the boats.  
      
    Bain looked about desperately. “I can’t see my father’s wherry! Someone must have taken it!”  
      
    Sigrid cursed under her breath. Tilda wailed and clung to Rowan’s shirt tighter. The pilings shook as a building only a few houses down collapsed, giving into the flames. They were already on borrowed time. The dragon had not flown over them again, but Rowan was sure he was still there above, obscured by the inferno he had created.  
      
    Another fishing boat was passing them. It sat low in the water, overburdened by four villagers and several hastily packed chests and burlap bags of belongings.  
      
    “ _Wait!_ ” Rowan called out hoarsely, lungs burning from the smoke. “Wait! Please help us!”  
          
    The anguished face of a middle-aged woman looked up at her. “There’s no room!” she called back. “We can’t take you!”  
      
    “Please! Just the children!” Tears of frustration prickled Rowan’s eyes. “Just take _them_!”  
      
    The woman shook her head and returned to help her husband with the oars.  
      
    “Aren’t they worth more than your _things!?_ ” Rowan screamed after them, but her cry fell on deaf ears and drifted away in the air with the red cinders, unheeded.  
      
    The floor rolled beneath them. With a terrible crack, Bard’s house gave into the strain and the left wall crumpled, falling into the waters of the Long Lake. The wooden platform pitched forward dangerously, throwing them all the ground. Rowan caught herself with a clawed hand, digging into the planks to keep herself from sliding over the edge. With the other hand, she grasped at Tilda, holding the poor sobbing girl away from the waters. A thundering roar from above rattled their bones.  
      
    How was Bard going to save them with his bundle of iron arrows, against such a thing?  
      
    Either way, they had to get out. Rowan looked at the three children she had been charged to protect, blinking her smoke-stung eyes. Nessa’s words ran through her mind again. _You are a physical manifestation of an incorporeal spirit. It is only a shroud with which you clothe your soul, a reflection of your self perception._ She would not have even considered it before, especially given how exhausted she already felt. But, only moments ago Rowan had performed a feat she would have previously considered impossible. There was nothing left to lose, really.  
  
    “Sigrid, Bain, listen to me.” Rowan began, passing the trembling Tilda from her arms to Bain’s. She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice calm and firm, despite the doubt and panic in her own mind. “I know, that you know…I am not a human. I’m going to try to take us away from here. Don’t be afraid, okay?”  
      
    The two older children looked to each other for a brief moment, then nodded in ascent.  
      
    Rowan released her death grip on the platform, where she had imbedded taloned fingers, and struggled to her feet in a half crouch. _Focus._ She blocked out the heat of the flames that encompassed her. _Focus._ She blocked out the fly-away sparks stung her skin. _Focus_. Her mind turned the inner eye, where it was dark and calm. In the darkness, the glowing pool of her spiritual being was steady and strong, reassuring and ever present. It rose from that hidden place to greet her call, coming back to aid her once again. _There is no limit._ She told herself. _My only limit is my mind._ It was difficult to cast aside that part of her that had accepted there were certain things she could and could not do, but this was not the time for doubt. Her body swirled with light and she urged it to grow, forcing her power into every extremity. Feathers covered her skin and her form twisted and reshaped. Rowan opened her slashing yellow eyes and let out a cry from her wickedly curved beak.  
    The giant sea eagle spread its dark wings outward, the sheer volume of them creating a gust that temporarily cleared the smoke around them. With a few powerful beats, she rose to hover a few feet above the children that looked up in open-mouthed shock. Rowan flexed her talons, each one now easily the size of a man’s arm. As gently as possible, given the dire need for expedience, she encircled Sigrid and then Bain within her clawed feet. She hoped that Bain’s grip on Tilda was strong, for there would be little she could do if he dropped her. Holding her charges as tightly as she dared to, Rowan looked up to the sky and raised her wings high above, bring them down in a powerful stroke, to climb far up and away from the wreckage of Laketown.  
      
    The air was cold and stinging, but clear, as they rose above the dark waters, the ice floes and small boats racing by below them. Rowan focused her eyes ahead at the distant rocky shore, hoping the dragon would not deign to spare them any notice as they made their escape. She could still here the screams, and crashing and cracking of buildings burning and collapsing. She beat her wings faster, racing onward to safety. At least, what she hoped what would be safety. If the dragon lived, would anywhere in Middle Earth truly be safe? Rowan supposed that if it came to it, she could take the children to Thranduil’s cavernous halls, hidden in the forest. They might escape the wrath of the fire wyrm there. Her new freedom was hard won, but worthless if she and Bard’s family perished. Could she resign her life to being a prisoner again, if it meant they would survive?  
    But what of all the other inhabitants of valley? Were the dwarves still alive, hiding in the mountain? Or had they been Smaug’s first victims? If Bard failed, would Beorn be safe, or would his home and his river valley be consumed in fire just as Laketown had?  
    Rowan dispelling the anxieties that whispered in her mind, as _finally_ they had reached the rocky, desolate beach to the far side of the Long Lake. Gently, she descended, angling herself to hover above the ground as she gingerly released Sigrid and Bain from her grasp. They stumbled to their feet, a bit dazed by the aerial journey, but seemingly no worse for the wear. Bain set Tilda down, and Sigrid knelt by her, smoothing her hair and reassuring the little girl that they were safe now. Rowan freed herself from her transformation, pulling herself back inward, shrinking in size until she landed on her own delicate humanoid feet.  
    Though she was enormously glad to be breathing clean air once again, the freezing night immediately set Rowan to shivering in her bare skin. She looked over to Bain, Tilda, and Sigrid. The trio was wilted, smeared with soot, but alive. She let out a shaky sigh, shoving her hand through her hair to push it back from her face.       
    Across the water, Laketown was an orange fireball glowing in the deep blue of night. She could make out the tiny shapes of the canal boats making their way towards them. They would be here soon, and the children could regroup with their neighbors and friends. At least, those that had survived. Rowan’s eye returned to the distant blaze, the hell they’d just left. Her heart felt rent in two, twisted with indecision over what she should do next. There were other children out there in the fire. There were other innocent people with no way out, who surely had been denied passage just at she and Bard’s children had. Even if this was not the purpose she had been given life for, who was she to turn her back now, when it was her that was the most uniquely suited to help?  
    Rowan sighed again and turned her eyes back to the children, who huddled together silent in shock.  
  
     “Your people will be here soon.” She gave them a weak smile, hoping that they weren’t now too terrified of her skin changing abilities to trust her. “I’ve got to go back…I need to see if there are others still out there.”  
      
    Bain stood up straighter and nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Rowan. I’ll watch after my sisters.” His young face, so stern and brave, faltered briefly. “If you see our da…”  
      
    Rowan gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”  
  
    With that, her body lit up in a white-golden glow once more, the transformation coming easier to her a second time as she flared her vast wings outward and took to the sky yet again.  
      
    As the fire on the lake drew closer, her sharp predator’s eyes could see the twisting blood red shape of Smaug, circling over the destruction he had wrought. She couldn’t pick out the finer details, but Rowan could see his wings were broader than span of the Hall of Fire in Thranduil’s caverns. His long tail lashed and whipped about behind him as he flew. Smaug’s mammoth form curved up in the air, before angling downward, as if he were preparing to dive. Suddenly, he halted. The wyrm’s body shuddered, then writhed, wildly twisting midair above Laketown. Had Bard finally managed to strike him? _Oh please, tell me he did it. Tell me he won._ Rowan prayed to herself silently, daring to hope. The convulsions ceased, the dragon’s massive form went still, hovering for a long, breathless moment in the sky. Then, he fell. The tremendous carcass dropped downward, now only so much dead weight. With a resounding crash that Rowan could hear even at her fair distance, the dragon’s body collided the smoldering center of Laketown, and disappeared into the freezing waters.  
    Fierce joy and relief gave Rowan’s wings new strength as she hurried onward, desperate to see who and what remained standing from the battle. On approach, she could make out no familiar faces amongst the people clinging to floating wreckage and struggling to free themselves from the ruins of their homes. Moans of pain and frightened cries permeated the dark, otherwise eerily silent night. Smaug’s death did not extinguish the fires he had begun. Finding a walkway wide enough to alight upon, Rowan made her descent, flaring her wings to steady herself as it rocked under her weight. A mother carrying her baby, another small child in tow, stopped dead in her tracks just in front of the great bird, frozen in shock. Rowan realized she must have been terrifying to behold, unnaturally large bird of prey that she currently was, but hoped that the people of Esagaroth would already know of the benevolent Eagles that served Manwe. She lowered her head slowly, tucking her curved beak to her feathered chest, and gently extended a wing to the ground, inviting the human woman and her children to climb onto her back. A long, tense heartbeat passed as neither party moved. Then, hesitantly, the woman moved forward and touched on of the shining, ebony feathers of Rowan’s wing. The platform beneath them shuddered as another building nearby ruptured. That seemed to be enough for the human to make up her mind, as she ushered her little boy to climb up onto the massive sea eagle’s back, quickly following after him with her infant secured in her arms. Rowan breathed an internal sigh of relief, and once her passengers seemed reasonably settled, she took off once more, ferrying her fragile cargo to the refuge of the shore.  
  
    Rowan wasn’t entirely sure how many trips she made that night. Over and over again she returned to the wreckage, sometimes coaxing people to accept her aid, other times simply scoping them up from where they were huddled trapped or drifting— and hoped they’d forgive her once they realized she was taking them to safety. Soon enough though, after a few repeat appearances, they recognized and called to her themselves, in their desperation not bothering to question from whence their mysterious eagle savior had emerged. Small boats of rescuers also continued to make their way back and forth, picking up stragglers where they could find them. Rowan, by virtue of flight, was simply able to make the trip much faster. Despite her bodily aches and growing exhausting, she was grateful she could do this one thing to help. Was it not partly her fault such a calamity had come up them? Her escape went hand in hand with that of the dwarves. She had known in her heart, since before they even reached Laketown, that nothing but ruin could come of Thorin’s quest. Even in her anger towards him, though, she still hoped that he and his company, most especially Bilbo, were unharmed. More death couldn’t make this tragedy right.    
      
    Weak dawn was just breaking over the watery horizon, white and cold, as Rowan struggled to make one last journey. Every beat of her wings felt like lifting a lead weight. Her muscles burned and ached, her head felt like it was in a vice. The hazy light illuminated the desolation below— building fragments, furniture, and precious possessions all drifted aimlessly in the bitter waters, grimly punctuated on occasion by the dark shapes of human corpses. Every time she returned, there were always more of them, _always_ more people crying out to be saved. The fires had dimmed to smoldering embers now, but what structures remained could collapse with little more than a strong breeze. She couldn’t let herself rest, knowing that there was one more life she could have saved.  
    Rowan glanced down and hazily tried to recall exactly how she’d gotten so far already. She was halfway back to Laketown, and couldn’t entirely remember doing it, like she had fallen asleep in the instant between blinking her eyes. Every time they closed, it was harder and harder to open them, just as every wingbeat was more tortuous than the last. Rowan wasn’t entirely sure at what precise moment she began falling. In her fatigue, it was slow and dreamlike, her mind not reacting fast enough to panic until the first lash of arctic water hit her skin. She jerked weakly, frail human arms making a half hearted attempt to pull herself above the lapping waves. It was so _cold_ her bare skin burned like she had instead been bathed in fire. With a muffled splash, her head slipped below the surface.  
    Everything was quiet, dark, and strangely calm. Rowan tried in vain to push herself back up towards the light, but between the cold binding her muscles and her overwhelming exhaustion, the effort became more and more impossible. As she slowly drifted down, the pain her in oxygen-starved lungs seemed to lessen, or at least, she grew apathetic towards it. Rowan felt strangely warm, actually. Vaguely, she was aware that it was a bad thing, and that she should do…. _something._ Had she the energy, she might have turned into a fish, or fashioned herself gills. But between using her power to free Tilda and holding such a dramatic transformation for so long, it felt like there simply was nothing left inside her. Everything she had left to give was burned up with the rest of Laketown. Now, with darkness kissing the edge of her vision, Rowan could only drift like so much debris, too tired to fight for her life.  
      
     _“No…”_  
    A voice in her head whispered, insistent but barely there, like a shout from a distance. It wasn’t her own.  
  
     _“Wake up, Rowan. Fight!”_ It flickered through her head again, clearer now. A tiny sizzle of electricity followed it, as if a thin wire stretched between her and the speaker.  
      
   _“…T-Thranduil?”_ Rowan responded weakly, even her mental voice barely above a whimper. She sent the thought along the trace of that nebulous connection between them, not sure if she could give it the force to reach him. As she slowly sank, her dark red swath of hair drifted in front of her eyes, blocking out the light.  
      
     _“Yes, little stranger, I’m here.”_ His voice was stronger now. There was an unexpected softness to his words, a tenderness she never would have thought to hear after the way they had parted. The melodious tone grew firmer, more commanding. _“You need to listen to me now. There is not much time left, if you do not move you will die. ”_  
      
    Rowan’s heart fluttered in her chest, ever so slightly, as if trying to respond to his compulsion. _“I can’t…I’m just so tired…”_  
      
     _“You must!”_ Another kiss of magical static hit her, stronger than the first. “ _Where is the maddening creature that fought me tooth and nail at every turn for months? Whose vibrance charmed my own people so thoroughly they were complicit in her escape? Do not tell me you are suddenly so weak-willed that you would let such an ordinary thing as drowning stop you now.”_  
      
       
    An indignant protest rose to her blue lips. Rowan’s legs twitched, but they were so frozen it was like attempting to tread water in a pool of sand. _“I can’t do it, I can’t…just let me sleep now.”_ The cloying darkness was luring her in again, promising her tired mind the sweetness of oblivion. She felt warm and weightless.  
      
     ** _“NO!”_ ** Thranduil’s panicked roar echoed through her mind.  
  
    A wave of power, electric and burning, crashed in her, pouring along the binding between their two minds. It was as if he was forcing the divine fire of his _feä_ directly into the empty vessel of her body, like molten ore into cold stone. Every cell of her frigid body was bathed it it, rousing her from her coma. Awareness burst over Rowan, shaking off the deathly lethargy. Her limbs jerked to life. She kicked out in panic, thrashing her way back upwards, towards the shimmering light of the water’s surface. A dark shape loomed above, drifting between the chunks of ice. _A boat?_ Rowan clawed her way towards it, renewed vigor and raw power fueling her, but lack of oxygen was threatening to drag her back down again.  
    She reached up, the surface seemed so near that she could touch it. It was mere feet away and yet felt like miles, as her fingers swished through nothing but water, falling short of her goal. An eternity stretched between the next few seconds, the ache in Rowan’s muscles and the burning in her lungs curtailing her renewed effort to save herself. Just as it seemed the darkness would take her again, a shape loomed over from the side of the boat, and a hand burst through the surface. Strong, warm fingers tightly encircled the wrist of her outstretched arm. Bodily she was hauled up and out of the lake, bright light of morning and sweet rush of air overwhelming her senses. Other hands helped pull her over the side of the narrow boat, lowering her onto to floor, where she spilled into a puddle like seaweed caught up in a fisherman’s net.  
    Rowan’s long limbs splayed out in a tangle, blue and white as the ice floating around the fisherman’s vessel. Her waterlogged hair sticking to her face obscured the identities of the people around her. Two male voices rumbled above her head. Were they speaking to her? It seemed that fluid had even managed to seep into her ears, muffling all sound. For a long moment, all Rowan had the strength to do was lay there, gasping for breath. Her tired lungs rattled wetly with every wheeze. The same hand that had pulled her from her watery grave now reached down and carefully brushed wet strands of hair away from her eyes. Bard’s light brown gaze met her grey one. He looked half burnt and half drowned, face smeared with ash and singed by cinders, damp hair clinging to his forehead. But he was whole, and _alive_! Rowan smiled weakly up at him, unable yet to express her joy and gratitude in words.  
  
    “We saw you go down just over the horizon, and made our way here as swiftly as we we able. It seems as though it were not a moment too soon.” His voice was raspy, strained. No doubt his throat had been seared by the heat and smoke just as hers had. He looked pensive, as he gently helped her into a sitting position. “It… it was almost as though I heard a voice call to me, beseeching me to look up, and so I did, and there I saw you fall.”  
      
    Rowan’s heart did a curious flip. Could that have been Thranduil? Or some other supernatural intercessor? Lately her life seemed downright crowded with spiritual beings.  
  
    “After the beast was felled and I reunited with the refugees, my children found me. They told me of your heroism this night.” Emotion swarm in his eyes, though his face retained its usual wearied expression. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am. If they had been taken from me…”  
      
    She tentatively reached out a shivering hand, and laid it on top of Bard’s larger, one. The deathly pallor of her skin contrasted strongly against the suntanned, weather-beaten surface of his. “I know” She whispered.  
      
      
    A raven croaked overhead, flapping its midnight wings as to gain altitude, then smoothly gliding along the air current as it carried the massive scavenger bird towards the towering Lonely Mountain. The same cold breeze gently ruffled Rowan’s crimson hair, causing her to shiver where she sat on a rock along the Long Lake’s shore. Morning would arrive soon, the tiniest hint of rosy light was beginning to peak over the east horizon. After Bard and his companion had found her, Rowan fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and could not be roused the rest of the day and the greater portion of the night. It was only about an hour ago that she’d finally awoken. The refugees of Laketown were beginning to make preparations to move their makeshift camp to the stone ruins of the fallen city of Dale. Nothing was left of their old home that could be recovered. Rowan had insisted to Bard, that if the Elvenking did not soon extend aid of his own volition, to “march up to his godforsaken cave” and tell him that she would “personally would never let him have another peaceful sleep the rest of his natural life if he didn’t do the right thing.” Bard had looked extremely perplexed, but agreed.  
    Rowan flexed her beaten and aching body and stood, grimacing at the exposed flesh that her borrowed coat did not cover. Numerous burns and cuts now littered the entirety of her skin, and it would probably take several nights more rest before she would feel less like a walking corpse. She owed it to Bard, and to Thranduil, that she truly wasn’t among the bodies lost in the lake now. But something in her was restless, and she knew she couldn’t linger with either of them.  
    In the chaos and carnage of the dragon’s awakening, there had been no time to properly digest the visitation of the Vala Nessa in her dream. She had a lot to reconcile, now that the truth was revealed to her. A gnawing sorrow in her chest reminded her that what she so desperately desired was no longer a choice for her— there was no going back to Earth. She was born in this world, _for_ this world. Rowan had only been spirited away and brought back again to achieve her purpose as a protector for the Greenwood. The Valar would hardly see fit to return her just because she wasn’t pleased with their design. Foxglove and Orpheus would never see their daughter again, just as they had always feared. Even though the time they had together was borrowed from the beginning, it was a loss that she still couldn’t bring her heart to grasp. Rowan surmised grimly it would be some time before she would be able to truly let herself mourn it. For now, there wasn’t anything else to be done, except to try to understand the purpose she had been created for…and maybe find some place within the dangerous beauty of Middle Earth.  
    Removing the overcoat coat that had been generously lent to her, Rowan carefully folded it and placed it on the rock she had been sitting on, in plain view where it could be recovered again. She sighed and straightened up, rolling her shoulders and flexing her cold hands. She’d slept long enough to accomplish _one more_ small miracle. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Before she had even finished letting it out again, the human girl was gone, replaced by a plain red-tailed hawk that was already racing upwards towards the gathering clouds. The great green sea of Mirkwood’s canopy stretched out before Rowan in the distance. As her brown speckled wings carried her towards it, she allowed herself to daydream about a modest house that lay just on the other side. In it lived hundreds of honeybees, a dozen dogs, and one very remarkable bear. _Home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long anticipated update! I hope it is, at least partly, worth the wait c; I appreciate so much all of you that have stuck with me this long. Let me know what you think <3


	14. Sawdust and Diamonds

_One of my wishes is that those dark trees,_  
_So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,_  
_Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,_  
_But stretched away unto the edge of doom._

  
**Chapter Fourteen**

    Butterflies flitted to and fro above the high canopy of trees, their wings a velvety black color unlike anything Rowan had witnessed before. They darted out of her way as she glided along the air current, her own much larger wings flapping occasionally to maintain her altitude. The deep tiredness in her muscles was muted by the quivering excitement in her soul. The forest below began to thin out, the dense thatch of leaves giving way to scattered, isolated trees.  
    The vast expanse of the Anduin valley was no longer the pale green she remembered, but a deep gold. The feathery tips of the dying tall grasses shivered in the wind. Winter’s grasp was tightening on the Wilderlands, an entire season had passed since Rowan had been gone. A thin curl of white smoke rose in the distance, darkened against the brightness of the early afternoon sun. Her heart raced ahead of her, as her goal came into view— reaching out towards a humble cluster of buildings nestled into a copse of oak trees. Rowan could make out piebald ponies grazing in their pasture, scraggly dogs resting under the eaves of a shed, a haze of buzzing bees around their hive. The breath caught in her throat when she spied a certain nine foot tall man in the same attitude as when had she first met him, laboring over the woodpile just to the south of the main house.  
    For his part, the giant skinchanger was given little warning as small hawk plummeted out of the sky directly towards him, in a distinctly unbirdlike manner. Rowan didn’t even wait to let her feet touch the ground before her feathers melted away into shimmering light, the glow still fading from her human skin as she threw her arms towards Beorn, and he instinctively opened his to catch her. She let out a sound halfway between a shout and a sob as her willowy limbs folded around his neck, clinging to him as if he might vanish into smoke should she let go. Though his skin was rough and his muscles more than strong enough to crush her slight frame, Beorn held her to him with infinite tenderness. Tangled up in the great bear-man’s embrace, Rowan felt all her anguish, confusion, and joy leave her in a salty rush of tears. He was solid, and _real_. She could do nothing to tamp down ugly sobs rattled in her chest and she pressed her wet face to Beorn’s shoulder. She hadn’t planned to greet her long-lost friend in such an dramatic manner, but to really be _here_ , under the open sky and in his company again after everything that had happened…  
  
    “I’m going to hang that preening relic by his pointy ears.” Beorn rumbled darkly as he patted his distraught little friend on the back, shifting her slightly in his arms before turning to head towards the warmth of the house.  
      
    She hiccuped.  
      
      
    Rowan stood in the crude but comfortable room that had been hers for those first few months, feeling as though she were stepping back in time, not a day having passed. After she’d regained some modicum of self control again, Beorn had set her down and ushered her back to her old room to wash herself up and get dressed. The slight grimace on his face and the tense press of his lips when he’d seen her cuts and burns hadn’t gone below her notice, no doubt he’d have some pungent compress he’d want to slather on her later. Though Rowan desperately wanted to hear everything that had happened in her absence immediately, his gruff insistence on her taking care of herself first had merit. She hadn’t had a bath or even worn proper clothing ever since being smeared in ash and half-drowned in a lake.  
    Her bedchamber was exactly as she had left it, to the last detail. The tunic thrown over the foot of the bed, the crinkled nest of blankets. The roughly hewn wall shelves still displayed her small trophies of shells, stones, and wildflowers— though blossoms were now shriveled and dried, the water in their jars long since evaporated. It seemed Beorn hadn’t so much as opened the door again after she had disappeared into Mirkwood. The only hint of a difference was a series of jagged cuts in one side of the doorframe— as if an enormous, clawed hand had nearly crushed the wooden timber it in its grip.  
    The washroom was an equally, if not more, welcome sight. The first cold splash of well water was both a blessing and a curse. Rowan hissed as it touched the numerous abrasions on her skin, but was glad to finally scrub the grime from her body. Standing in the copper tub, she dumped bucket after bucket of water over her head, scratching at her scalp with her fingers. The tallow soap smelled something awful, but the grey, soot-tinged foam that rinsed off of her told her that it was working. After what felt like an eternity of scrubbing, Rowan huddled by the small fireplace to dry off, flushed and pink. Her hip length hair was hopelessly waterlogged, sadly lacking the refinements of fluffy towels and fancy bath accouterment that were available in the elven kingdom.  It seemed that she’d gotten used to that luxury rather quickly, Rowan chided herself as she wrung her mane out over the tub with shivering but deft fingers, weaving the heavy red locks into a simple braid. The action caused a stab of longing in her chest, as she recalled all the times Eccaieth had dressed her hair after bathing.  
    Rowan gripped the sides of the copper tub as she prepared to drag it to the side door, so she could dump the murky water into the adjacent yard. But as she glanced into the clouded surface of the water, the light of the fireplace and daylight streaming through the open door reflected her visage back at her. There were no real mirrors in Beorn’s dwelling, he having little use for vanity himself— Beorn’s definition of a suitable appearance was a shirt that was only partially eaten by moths. Rowan had shied from too closely inspecting her reflection ever since finding it changed the last time. Though the surface was imperfect, the bathwater looking glass showed her the alarming vision she had last seen— slightly too angular, too smooth, eyes glinting silver in the light. The woodmen’s homespun tunic and leggings that Beorn had acquired for her when she first appeared in Middle Earth now fit oddly when they had been perfectly suitable that last summer. The formerly jutting corners of her shoulders and hips, they were softer and subtler. She still had no curves or voluptuousness to be found in her figure, but there was a maturity there that had not been present before. At twenty six, it was honestly probably overdue. Yet seeing herself here, now, in such an earthy and unpretentious setting, it made the differences all the more noticeable. If one happened to grow into a mask of ethereal glamour when surrounded by elves in an underground palace, well…it wasn’t entirely out of place. But there was no likeness for such a fairylike strangeness in the rough and tumble day to day life she’d experienced in Beorn’s homestead.  
    She touched an sharp cheekbone with her fingertips, considering. The truth Nessa had given her, that her humanoid physical form was malleable, it still prickled in the back of her mind. In her limited understanding of herself and her abilities, Rowan had always considered that her human state was what it was, and when she reverted back to it, it would always be the same. When she first beheld those changes in her bedroom in Thranduil’s caverns, she had feared it was some kind of metamorphosis that proved that the magic of Mirkwood was slowly swallowing her whole. Perhaps, instead, it was a reflection of her internally _feeling_ less human. If it was simply a guise she could shed like a cloak, then it could be undone.  
    Rowan took a long look at the face before her, and then closed her eyes. She held it in her mind, and then molded it— recalling the soft grey her irises used to be, the slightly off kilter proportion of her full lips and wide jaw and straight nose. Her skin pale, but not luminescent. She opened her eyes again. A human face now looked back at her. Perhaps not exactly the same as it once was, but some happy compromise between. There was a womanliness there now, but no longer such an unearthly one. Rowan let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and gave herself a timid smile. It was a small victory, but a meaningful one none the less. After the constant onslaught of reality shattering revelations, she had one win, one thing she had control over.  
  
    Beorn was sitting at the long table by the hearth in the main room when Rowan returned. As she’d prophesied, he had pulled several jars down from his homemade apothecary. She plopped down on a stool next to him, chuckling to herself that her feet could barely touch the ground on what was a low seat for him. If he noticed the alteration to her appearance, Beorn said nothing. Then again, she’d been so dirty when she first arrived, he really might not have seen how she’d changed.  
      
     Wordlessly, the gentle giant opened a clay jar and smeared some its contents on his index finger, then turned to hold her jaw in the other hand while he patted the ointment on the small burns that peppered her face. Her prediction was correct, it stank. “Rowan, I…” His rumbling baritone sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “….I hope you do not believe I abandoned you.”  
  
    Rowan immediately sputtered a protest. Of course she didn’t think that! But Beorn waved his hand to shush her and continued.  
  
    “Once the troll was felled and I realized you had gone into the forest, I followed. The smell of blood was strong, but the trees…were restless.” He focused on applying medicine to her small wounds, not meeting her eyes as he offered his usually vulnerable confession. “I tracked your trail and that of the goblin, the best that I could. Yet I was led in circles. No matter what path I followed, I found myself returned to the edge of the wood. That cursed enchantment hindered me at every step.” Beorn broke off, darkly muttering an indecipherable curse to himself.  
    “It was nearly a full day later, before I finally found the bodies of the spiders. I could see the evidence of a terrible fight, and your blood…and those damned elves. If they had found you, I knew they would have ferreted you away in their caves, and none can enter there without the notice of their _esteemed king_. I do not care much for elves or their ways, but I knew you were alive if you were among them…but in a place far beyond my reach.” Beorn finally raised his dark eyes to hers. “I would not have willingly abandoned you, little one. If there was a way, I would had have come for you.”  
  
    Rowan covered his huge hand with her own small one, stilling his work. “I know.” Her heart contracted, seeing the pain in her usually stoic friend. “I didn’t think for a minute that you left me.”  
  
    “And yet here I find you returned to me, with wounds I could do nothing to protect you from” His voice was low and angry, but spoke volumes of the helplessness he had felt.  
      
    She gave him a forcefully cheerful smile. “I trust the dwarves told you about the dragon, yeah?”  
  
    Beorn’s face went from pained to downright alarmed. Rowan continued before he could interject.  
  
    “I met them, in Thranduil’s domain. Well, I really met Bilbo first. He told me that they stayed with you, that you were okay. I was beyond relieved to hear it. I’d been so worried, after the way we were separated.” She released his hand so that he could continue to dutifully address every small injury he found.  
     “Being an elvish prisoner, living with them…was confusing. I wanted desperately to escape, to come back to you, but at the same time…they are good, kind people. They won’t waver from the law of their king, but they were never anything but gentle with me. In the end, I found a way out along with Bilbo and the dwarves. But, I didn’t know…I didn’t know what Thorin intended to do. If I could have fathomed what would happen as a result, I can’t say if Thranduil was really so wrong trying to stop them…if you had seen what awakening Smaug did…”  
    Rowan shook her head. “Since I showed up on your doorstep all those months ago, I’ve seen more death than I have in my entire life. But killing goblins…it’s nothing compared to what a dragon did in a matter of minutes. If Bard hadn’t slain Smaug, I don’t think either of us would be here right now.”  
      
    Beorn grumbled in begrudging ascent. “I do not deny that. But what right did that pompous elf have to keep you locked in a cave?”  
  
    She sighed. Of course she agreed with him— Thranduil _had_ no right. But Beorn only saw the tip of the iceberg in the complicated mess that was her relationship with the Elvenking. She had never told him, or anyone, about their shared dreams. Not had she yet the chance to explain the dream in which Nessa told her the truth of her origin.  
      
    “In two months, I learned…a lot.”  
      
    As the day faded into a chilly early winter night, Rowan told Beorn everything. Her first encounter with Thranduil in her dream. The bond that cemented between them the first time that they touched. How the trees spoke to her, called her their daughter. She tried to explain the conflicted feelings she had towards the lofty king of the Mirkwood elves— how she hated and yet sympathized for him, feared but was drawn to him. Despite their numerous conflicts of temper and clashes of ego, there were those other times they’d talked and been…companionable. His arms had caged her in but also only touched her with gentleness. While it may have been against her will, part of Rowan’s soul now lived within that maddening fairy. Part of her would always ache to be near him. Even then, sitting in the warmth of Beorn’s house, a piece of her heart felt cold and empty, reaching towards the dark line of trees in the distance.  
    Finally Rowan came to the moment in her tale when Nessa had come to her on the night of the autumn equinox. Beorn listened with rapt attention as she did her best to convey the revelation the goddess had imparted unto the confused escapee. He understood with far less explanation than Rowan had assumed he’d need, but then again he had been born into this world and its strange mythology. Enchanted forests, immortal elves, and fire breathing dragons were already part of his life. What was one semi-divine spiritual being masquerading in the shape of a confused mortal girl?  
      
    “No wonder then, that the forest fought me tooth and nail when I tried to find you. I do not suppose to understand the strange workings of spirits, but…” Beorn shook his head ruefully. “Trees and elves can do what they will, I will not let them have you again if your choice is to stay here.”  
  
    Rowan smiled softly, eye prickling with tears that she willed herself not to shed this time.  
      
    “Radagast will likely want to speak of it, though.” He admitted.  
      
    “I won’t be surprised if he shows up already knowing the whole story, honestly. But I do have my own questions for him, anyway.” She replied, stifling a yawn.  
      
    Beorn stood and cleared the table of medicines, his task of patching Rowan up long since completed. She stood as well, clearing away what else was left behind him, and burying the dying embers of the fire in a nest of ash. The cold wind whistled outside the shuttered windows, and she ached for the warm refuge of the blankets and straw-stuffed mattress that awaited her in her room.  
      
    “Ah, before I forget. There’s someone who’s been wanting to see you.” Beorn admitted, opening the door that led off into the adjoining stable. On the other side, a medium-sized grey sighthound waited patiently. As soon as Beorn gestured for it to enter, it bounded towards Rowan, happily swinging its tail.  
  
    “Lissa!” She cried in surprise, kneeling down to let the hound snuffle her hair and gently lick her face. Vaslissa’s whole body wagged happily as she pushed her snout at her long lost two-legged friend. Rowan gently clasped the dog’s long face between her hands and planted a kiss on her velvety nose. In the rush of things, she’d nearly forgotten her loyal grey shadow. Lissa didn’t seem to hold it against her, though.  
      
    “The two of you ought to get along now. The hour is late.” Beorn grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile at the sight of the pair reunited.  
  
    Rowan nodded, half distracted by running her hands down the length of Lissa’s sleek back. She rose from her crouch and turned towards her room, clicking her tongue to encourage the dog to follow her. Lisa’s claws skittered against the wood floor as she happily complied.

  
      
     _The first downy flakes of winter snow drifted through the air. A biting gust of wind swept from the north, bringing with it the damp, ozone smell of an oncoming blizzard. Rowan looked down at her bare feet as they padded across the rocky ground, pale as the snow drifts that had started to accumulate there. Strangely, she felt no pain from the cold despite her inappropriate attire. Looking up, she could see the barren landscape stretched out before her, white and empty. In the distance, the Lonely Mountain loomed over, terrible and forboding as always. It pierced the grey sky, of such an ambiguous light and color she couldn’t even tell what time of day it was._  
_A noise behind her broke the echoing silence. Rowan turned, and froze in fear. Seemingly from nowhere, with no footprints to explain its approach, a wolf stood. It was not like any wild animal Rowan had known on earth, beasts who she couldn’t say were good or evil— they simply were. This creature had an unnatural intelligence in its eyes, and a malice burning there. Its body was massive, hulking, covered in mottled grey and brown fur. Blood was smeared across its muzzle and bared teeth. Rowan took a half step back, heart furiously pounding in her chest. The bright red blood, steaming with heat in the freezing air, slowly oozed from the wolf’s mouth to the ground with a muted_ plop _. The shining crimson against the white snow stirred something in Rowan’s mind, some foggy memory trying to claw its way to the surface._ Blood and snow.  
_The red stain spread, hot and oozing across the ground. It melted the snow in its wake, revealing the hilt of an elven sword buried beneath. Rowan looked around to see that everywhere, as far into the bleak distance as she could see, blood was pooling up from the ground as if some awful underground spring had been awakened. The stains spread, pulling back the curtain of snow. The vague, lumpy shapes of tangled bodies and weaponry were revealed— an endless field of corpses. Human, elf, and dwarf, all fallen and frozen in their last horrifying moments of death. Rowan looked down at her feet again, now ankle deep in blood. An elegant hand lay sprawled just left of where she stood. Her eyes followed the hand up the arm, to the perfect elven face with eyes closed forever. It was a face she knew. Huoriel. She choked back a cry and stumbled away, nearly falling over the body of the dwarven warrior just behind her. Everywhere her eyes darted to, she saw familiar faces. Countless guards she recognized her time in Mirkwood. Her gaze landed on Uiron, still clutching his recurve bow, Falathiel half laying across him. Veryan was only a few paces farther, his beautiful braided hair half cut away._  
_Rowan fell to her knees, gasping for air as the horror settled in her chest. In front of her lay a distinctive piece of metalwork she would know anywhere. Twisted metal branches fashioned in the shape of a crown. A bolt of pain shot through her heart. Her mind screamed at her not to look, but she was unable to tear her eyes away. Silver-gold hair spilled across the battlefield towards her, stained with red like metal corroded with rust. Her eyes followed it, to the body dressed in ceremonial armor. Up to the heartbreaking perfection of his face, still wondrous even when cold and still. Under his dark brows, his ice blue eyes were still half open, glazed and lifeless._  
     Rowan screamed.  
      
    She was only vaguely aware of the powerful arms shaking her, the deep voice calling to her, as a piercing cry ripped from her chest, burning her throat. She couldn’t stop shrieking, waiting like a thing possessed. Her mind was still half trapped in the cruel nightmare. Lissa was beside her, howling at her person’s distress, only contributing to the chaos. Beorn’s face swam in front of Rowan’s eyes in the dimly lit room. She couldn’t breathe. Her screams eventually quieted down to a choking sob as she struggled for air. She was vaguely aware of Lissa’s damp nose insistently nudging against her cheek. Bile rose in Rowan’s throat and she gagged, coughing and sputtering. Beorn release his grip enough for her to lean over the side of the bed as she vomited.  
    For what felt like an eternity, Rowan simply focused on her breathing, eyes squeezed shut as if that could block out the images that tormented her in her dream. She let a shuddering gasp in, and released it, repeating the action until she felt more firmly rooted in reality. Lissa laid her long snout on Rowan’s right shoulder. Beorn’s hand rested on her left. She wiped at her mouth with the cuff of her sleeve. She looked up at Beorn beseechingly.  
      
     “They’re all going to die” Rowan whispered.

  
    It was full morning by the time she was calm enough to explain what she had seen, without breaking down again. Truthfully, Rowan feared that Beorn would dismiss her as being silly, that it was only a dream— but yet again, he didn’t. Granted, few dreams these days seemed to be only that. Everything was a damned premonition or sign from the gods. How fleeting her sense of safety had been, thinking that she could just come back and everything would be as it was. Was her apparent life’s purpose so close at hand? She had been created to protect the great Greenwood from the creeping shadow of evil. Was the source of that menace about to emerge into the light? Smaug was dead, now what new threat was out there waiting to smite them all from existence?  
    Rowan looked over at Beorn where he sat near her on a tree stump, letting the rays of the sun soak into his weathered and tanned face. Even with the nip of early winter, he only wore a light linen shirt and his usual shortened pants, and was barefoot as always. Once the sun was up, he had insisted they come sit outside, believing some fresh air and light was the best cure for terrors in the dark. Lissa was happily spilled across the ground in a grey puddle, sneezing occasionally when a bee got too close to her nose.  
  
    “What do you think the wolf meant?” Rowan asked, watching a fat gold and black bumblebee drift by sleepily. The insects wouldn’t be active much longer, with the way the weather was changing.  
  
    Beorn grunted. “I am not a soothsayer or a wizard, but never have I seen one of those damned creatures without goblins being close behind.”  
      
    Rowan paled. “A-are there enough goblins in Middle Earth to do… _that?_ To wipe out the elves, dwarves, _and_ men?”  
      
    “I could not say for certain how many there are entirely— they creep in the mountains in caves and shadows, skulking in dark places. But in my life I have seen enough of their numbers and their wicked determination to say it is possible.” Beorn answered with a sigh. A low flying bee buzzed past and he gently caught it in his massive hand. Raising his cupped hands to his lips, Beorn whispered something so softly Rowan couldn’t quite make it out. After a few seconds, he released his fuzzy captive and it zoomed away, out towards to open valley.  
  
    She looked at him questioningly. He grumbled vaguely.  
  
    “As I said, I am not in the business of interpreting dreams and visions. But we have a wizard in our acquaintance is.”  
  
      
    For a stubborn moment, Rowan was tempted to stay rooted in her seat until she could glimpse the Radagast’s ragged hat peaking over the horizon. She was halfway surprised he hadn’t already shown up asking about breakfast, bee or no. Beorn, however, declared that there were better things to be doing than waiting for a wizard that would be late to his own funeral. As Rowan stared at her friend’s retreating back, her anxieties began to stir again in her chest. Without him by her side, the openness of the grassy plain seemed threatening, rather that freeing. The gloomy line of Mirkwood’s edge spilled like ink across the west horizon. What horrors might suddenly burst from there?  
    The unabating hollowness in her chest clawed up from inside, pulling her ragged edges apart. The small solace of returning to the river valley was not enough to piece her back together. Her battered soul, already rendered in two, was now further shaken by the grim prophecy of her dream. No where was safe now, not even her unconscious hours. Everything she had come to care for would be consumed in the tide of blood. It seemed a fool’s hope to insist she was strong enough to stop it.  
    Her cascading thoughts were interrupted by the cold press of Lisa’s snout against Rowan’s clenched fist. She let out a shuddering breath and relaxed her hand, burying it in the warm fur of the sighthound’s pelt. Standing, Rowan felt something wet touch the tip of her nose. She looked up. Hazy clouds had gathered, dimming the light of the sun to a gray hue. Soft white flakes were slowly drifting down towards her.  
    As the first snow of winter quietly kissed the long brown grasses around her, Rowan quickly made her decision and hurried after the gruff skinchanger. The best place to be in the sea of doubt, was anchored by his side.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all enjoy the heavy handed foreshadowing I did all those chapters back? ;D  
> Honestly I really wanted to make this a happy reunion chapter...but plot must move ever onward. As I said before, I am pulling from both the book and the movies, and my own invention, but the chain of events that has to happen just happens so quickly there isn't much time for fluff.  
> Speaking of fluff, I'm going to be doing some heavy editing and most likely adding a new chapter back in the earlier part of the story, where I feel I skipped over some character development and such. Might be after another new-new chapter, or before. We'll see :)  
> Thank you so very much for your continued readership!


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